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SEOj- iO fiOP/, 

i&ba 


THE 


ffiracle atlRarlJtein 


IDow twelve Gburcto 
tome ®ne 




/• 


/ 

BY CHARI^BS M. SHELDON, 


AUTHOR OF 

HIS STEPS,” “MALCOM KIRK,” 
AND OTHER STORIES 


Copyright, 1[]99, 

BY FRED K L. CHAPMAN, 



TIIK CHURCH PRESS 

CHICAGO, U. S. A. 


BOOKS IVRITTEN TV 


CHARLES M. SHELDON' 

ih 

OVER HAEF A MIEEION SOED 

THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 
MALCOLM KIRK 
IN HIS STEPS 39396 
CRUCIFIXION OF PHILLIP STRONG 
ROBERT HARDY^S SEKEN DAYS 
HIS BROTHERS KEEPER 
RICHARD BRUCE 
THE TWENTIETH DOOR ■ 


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i>39 











v'12) 

iiCAXK.'hO. 


'HK MIRACIyK at MARKHAM was written 


a during the summer of 1898, and read the 
following fall and winter by the author to 
his Sunday evening congregation in the 
Central Church, Topeka, Kansas. It was 
then published as a serial in The Ram’s Horn, 
Chicago. 

This volume is dedicated by the author, with much ’ 
affection, to Russell H. Conwell. 

The facts as to church crowding, at least in small 
towns in the middle west of this country, is too 
evident to require any argument. The need of some 
kind of union, in order to save the waste of effort in 
church work, is also plain to all thoughtful church 
members. What shall this union be? This story em- 
phasizes only one point, and that is the practical 
possibility of a church union, not on lines of doctrine, 
custom or creed, but on lines of common effort for the 
uplift of humanity. Where churches of different 
denominations and methods of outward worship are 
not ready nor willing to unite on a basis of creed, they 
are ready and willing to unite on a basis of Christian 
service. 

This is all that the story attempts to teach. Any 
town like Markham (and it is only a type of hun- 
dreds) can do what Markham did. And if the denom- 
inations once begin to unite on this basis of common 
effort for a common humanity, sectarianism in its 
most unchristian and offensive exhibition of narrow 
and selfish church life will be a thing of the past, and 
the Kingdom of God will come in great power on the 
earth. To this end this story is sent out. May its 
message bless the church of Jesus and hasten the 
answer to His longing prayer that His disciples might 
be one. 




Topeka, Kansas, Central Church, 1899. 



NOT THAT THOU 
SHOULDESTTAKE 
THEM OUT OF THE WORLD, 
BUT THAT THOU SHOULDEST 
KEEP THEM FROM THE EVIL;— 
NEITHER PRAY I FOR THESE 
ALONE, BUT FOR THEM ALSO 
WHICH SHALL BELIEVE ON ME 
THROUGH THEIR WORD ; THAT 
THEY ALL MAY BE ONE; AS 
THOU, FATHER, ART IN ME, AND 
I IN THEE, THAT THEY ALSO 
MAY BE ONE IN US: THAT THE 
WORLD MAY BELIEVE THAT 
THOU HAST SENT ME. 


John xvii:i^-20, 21. 


FHE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


CHAPTER I. 

A LETTER WHICH BROKE TWO HEARTS. 

ELL, John,” said the minis- 
ter’s wife, coming suddenly 
into .the study a few min- 
utes after the postman had 
left the parsonage, “what 
does William w’rite? I saw 
ihis letter. Please read it to 
me.” 

The Rev. John Procter, pastor of the 
Congregational Church in Markham, hes- 
itated as he turned towards his wife with a 
letter in his hand. The hand trembled a 
little, a very unusual thing with John 
Procter. His wife noticed it. 

“What is the matter?” she asked, her 
voice betraying some anxiety. “Is he — • 
is anything wrong?” 

“It’s a serious matter, Kate,” said John 
Procter, gravely. “Don’t be alarmed,” he 
continued, as his wife made a gesture of 
fear. “Personally, William is not in any 
danger. But you must be prepared for 
unexpected news.” 

“I am ready to hear it,” said the minis- 
ter’s wife, but her voice trembled, and she 
looked at her husband anxiously. 



6 


THE MIRAClyE AT MARKHAM 


The Eev. John Proeter opened ont. the 
letter, bnt he hesitated again befoire read- 
ing it. There was a curious mingling of 
sadness and anger in his voice and manner 
when finally he read the letter aloud. 

Andover, Mass., Sept. 10, 1897. 

Dear Father and Mother— I am about to 
write you a letter that will cause you pain. I 
am well aware of that fact, and yet I have 
thought the entire matter out prayerfully, and 
I cannot avoid the result, much as I know it 
will cause you very great sorrow. To tell you 
at once what my news is, I will say I have 
definitely deciaed to leave the seminary and 
give up my preparations for the ministry. 

Mrs. Procter gave an exclamation of 
surprise, and the minister paused a- mo- 
ment and looked at her. The faces of both 
of them w^ere pale and agitated. 

“Go on, John,” said Mrs. Procter, finally. 
But she sat during the rest of the reading 
with her head bowed. Once, a tear rolled 
over her cheek. 

Of course, you will expect me to give my 
reasons for this great change in my plans. 
You know that during the summer I have 
been supplying the pulpit at Granby. I have 
written you something of my experience 
there, but I have not told you anything of mj- 
real experience. Granby is a town of three 
thousand people and eight churches, not 
counting the Catholic. The Congregational 
Church, which I supplied for three months and 
a half, had seventy-two members, nominally. 
They have had six pastors in twelve years. 
At present, they are being served by supplies. 
They pay twelve hundred dollars and parson- 


the; MIRACTE at MARKHAM 


7 


age. I learned after I had been there two 
months, that the church committee receives 
twenty-five or thirty applications a month, 
from ministers who would like to candidate for 
the place. 

It would be impossible for me to tell you in 
a letter all my experience while in Granby, 
which has led up to my present resolve to 
leave the ministry forever. From the day I 
entered the seminary, up to the present time, 
when I begin the Senior year, 1 have felt an 
increasing conviction that the ministry con- 
tained less and less that appealed to me even on 
the side of service. As much as I reverence 
your life, dear father, I have come to feel that 
as the churches now are, separated and weak- 
ened by their foolish denominational pride, 
there is almost nothing in the ministry to at- 
tract a man who really wants to serve the 
world. 

In Granby, as I have said, there are eight 
churches to three thousand people. The Con- 
gregational, Baptist, Presbyterian, Episcopal, 
Free-Will Baptist, Lutheran, Christian and 
Methodist. 

These all have separate church buildings 
and ministers. Besides these, the Christian 
Science people have meetings in a hall, and the 
United Brethren hold services every other 
week in the district school house near the rail- 
road shops. All of these churches are in debt, 
and all but two are behind with salaries. 

The impression which grew with every min- 
ute of my summer’s work in Granby, was one 
that made me feel that I could not honestly go 
on with my studies for the ministry. In fact, 
dear father and mother, I have lost my re- 
spect for the ministry as a profession, and for 
the churches as organizations for doing Chris- 
tian work. You do not know what it costs me 
to write this. I know something, if not all, of 


8 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


the pain it gives you. You have always 
thought of me as a minister. It is not the 
’leiast painful thought to me that out of 
father’s hard-earned savings I have, for the 
last eight years, been sent to academy, college 
and seminary, to be educated for a profession I 
now am obliged to confess I cannot enter be- 
cause I have grown to despise it. Dear father, 
believe me, nothing but a feeling of profound 
conviction could make such a confession pos- 
sible. But you have brought me up to tell 
the truth and be true to convictions, no mat- 
ter what the cost. And I am compelled to con- 
fess that the condition of the churches, the 
fickleness and instability of the minister’s po- 
sition, the unchristian division and sectarian- 
ism of the denominations have produced in me 
such a distaste and unfitness for the ministry, 
that I must leave the seminary, and give up the 
life that you and mother have so fondly 
planned for me these many years. 

I do not know, yet, what I shall do. I am 
not fitted to teach, and all my school life has 
not taught me anything that I can turn to ac- 
count in tne struggle for a living. I have often 
wished, this year, that I had learned a trade 
before coming away from home to school. I 
am perfectly well, physically, and, if necessary, 
I can go out to work as a day laborer. In any 
case, father, I do not wish you to send me any 
more money. If you do, I shall return it. I 
'‘“la take care of myself, somehow. You know 
tat with all I have said, I have not lost my 
Christian faith. My experience has not shaken 
"hat. The only thing is, I must, hereafter, ex- 
ercise it somewhere else besides in the minis- 
try. Give much love to Jane, and believe me, 
*4ways, your loving son, William. 

Andover Theological Seminary. 

There was a long silence in the little 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


9 


study. The Kev. Joihn Proote;r could not 
conceal from his wife the deep disappoint- 
ment caused by his son’s confession. In 
memory, he rapidly traced the hopes and 
ambitions he had felt for this son’s career. 
It had been the anticipation of his own 
ministry to see his son in a pulpit, and 
hear him preach an eloquent sermon. some 
day in his father’s own church. It seemed 
to him like treason, like filial disobedience, 
now, that this son had turned his face 
ag'ainst the ministry and the church. 

There were many thing's in the letter 
that wounded him deeply. The loss of the 
money saved by painful economy, to pay 
William’s school bills, was the least part 
of his disappointment. It was the thoug-ht 
of his desertion from the profession, that 
pained, and even ang-ered, the Kev. John 
Procter for a moment. 

Mrs. Procter finally spoke. “What do 
you think, John? Has he g’ood reasons 
for such a step?” She asked the question, 
not knowing' what to say first. There was 
no feeling' of ang'er with her. The upper- 
most feeling' was one of g'rief. She had 
never thought of her son as being any- 
thing but a minister. 

John Procteir was silent a moment. The 
question his wife had asked him was one 
he could not honestly answer at the mo- 
ment. The asking of it angered him. 
After all, at best, ministers are men of 


lO 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


like passions with their parishioners. 

“He is noit old enough to decide such 
great questions so hastily,” said John 
Procter, sharply. 

Mrs. Procter was silent for a moment. 

“At lenst we must respect William’s hon- 
est convictions,” she said softly and with 
some pride. “He must be true to them.” 

“Even if he is false to us!” said the 
minister, bitterly. 

“You did not mean that, did you John?” 
asked his wife laying her hand on his arm. 

“I said it, if I did not mean it,” he 
replied; “William has deceived us. He 
should not have gone on all these years 
pretending” — 

“John, you cannot believe that!” cried 
his wife rising and coming up close to 
him. 

“At least, his decision is — ” 

“John, anything buit loss of love and re- 
spect for our boy. It is a deep disap- 
pointment to us, but let us give him the 
benefit of his convictions.” 

John Procter suddenly looked up fair- 
ly into his wife’s face. His look changed. 

“I spoke hastily,” he said with a sad 
smile. “Let us take time to think it over. 
Only,” he udded with emphasis, “I wish 
this new'S had come later in the week. I 
am not in a very good frame of mind to 
write my sermons after this!” 

“Moither, mother!” cried a voice from 


The MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


I 



(t 


)) 


FINALLY HE READ THE LETTER ALOUD 


12 


THB MIRACI.EJ AT MARKHAM 


the kitcbeoa, “please help me with this 
recipe, won’t you?” 

“Yes, Jane,” said Mrs. Procter, “I’ll be 
there in a moment.” 

The minister ’iS wife looked up at him. 
The teal’s were in her eyes. He stooped 
and kissed her, and neither said a word. 
Each knew that for them both a rare 
disappointment had come into their lives, 
a disappointment that could not be talked 
about, but must always be a part of mem- 
ory. 

When his wife had gione out of his study, 
John Procter turned about to his writing 
desk and picked up his pen. He sat with 
it in his hand for a minute, but he could 
not think of anything to write. 

Suddenly, he threw his pen down and 
rose and walked over to his window. 
From wdiere he stood, he could see the 
main street of Markham, and count five 
church steeples. 

He stood by the window for several 
minutes, and something almost like a 
sneer grew on his face. The sneer passed 
away, but another look took its place, a 
look of scorn and of sad disgust. 

“Is William right about it, after all?” he 
asked the question aloud, and walking 
away from the window, he paced his study, 
talking to himself. 

“Here, in Markham, we have twelve 
churches to twenty-eight hundred people. 


I'HE MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


13 


We beait Granby by four oburches. In 
the lang'uiaig’e of tbe real estate agents’ cir- 
culair which booms his western town, 
‘every denomination is represented, so 
that everybody’s religious preferences 
may be gratified.’ Let me see. This is 
the religious census of Markham.” 

John Procter walked over to his desk 
and sat down. 'He drew a large sheet of 
paper towards him and put down the fol- 
lowing: 

“The Church of Christ as at Present Organized 
in the Town of Markham.” 


Congi egational 

Baptist 

Methodist 

Presbyterian 

Lutheran 

Adventist 


Christian 
Episcopal 
Free-Will Baptist 
United Presbyterian 
Cumberland Presbyterian 
Reformed Presbyterian 


“Add to these, Christian Science, Church 
of God, Free Methodist, United Brethren, 
Salvation Army, American Volunteers and 
Eoman Catholic. 


“Seven of these denominations have 


their buildings on the same street within 
a few blocks of one another. This street 


is the best street in town. There is 
only one church building im the factory 
district. Nine of these twelve churches 
are, to my positive knowledge, in debt, 
six of them with mortgages on their 
property. The average salary paid the 
miniiaters is less than one thousand dol- 
lars. With all these churches, we have a 


14 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


town with fifteen saloons, a notoriously- 
corrupt town council, the mayor of which 
is -the largest property owner in the sa- 
loons, and an increasing population of 
factory workers whose children run the 
streets and recruit the criminal classes. 
Our Sunday laws in Markham are con- 
temptuously disregarded, baseball and 
athletic sports make the Lord’s day a 
mockery, and drunkenness and vice are 
common.” 

The Eev. John Procter lifted his pen 
from the paper where he had written, and 
paused a moment. Then he added: 

“Markham is well churched; 

“But where is Christ?” 

He threw his pen down and rose and 
walked over to the window again, leaving 
the sheet of paper over the leaves of his 
partly-written sermon. 

“William is right about it, after all,” he 
said, at last. “How much is there in the 
mJnistry, to attract a young man with 
Christian ambitions, who really is eager to 
serve his fellow-man? How much infiu- 
ence do these twelve churches have in 
Markham? How much attention do the 
politicians pay to any church, for example, 
when it comes to a town, county, or state 
eleotion? We are struggling as a denom- 
ination 'to hold our own against the other 
sects. What strength have we left to do 
the Lord’s real work that cries aloud to be 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


15 


dome? I diom’t blame you, William, I — ” 

Rev. John Procter walked away from 
the Tvindow ag'ain, and sat down at his 
desk. The look on his face had changed 
again. Since his son’s letter and the feel- 
ing provoked by it, he had grown visibly 
older. The lines in his really strong face 
had deepened, the care in his eyes had 
grown more defined. After all these years, 
how had Christ’s prayer been answered? 
Were His disciples one? Could they ever 
be made one? His thought finally nar- 
rowed to Markham. Was it possible for 
them to be made one? Could Christ ever 
be made the real Master of these divided 
bodies? 

The Rev. John Probter drew anoither 
sheet of paper towards him, and after a 
little hesitation he wrote the following: 

‘‘Possibilities of uniting the twelve different 
denominations in Markham, 

THE MIMSTERS. 

1. Baptist — Rev. Charles Harris, pastor. 
A man without a college or seminary 
traininig, who always lays great stress on 
baptism by immersion, and frequently 
preaches from the topic, ‘Why am I a 
Baptist?’ A good man, but very narrow. 
Has drawn away his young people from 
the ChriStiani Endeavor Society, and 
formed a separate Baptist Union which 
refuses to take part in Christian work 


I6 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


with other young people’s societies. 
Strictly close communion. 

2. Methodist — E>ev. Lawrence Brown, 
pastor. A conscienitioujs, hard-working 
man with a large family. Has protracted 
meetings every winter, and without 
meaning to be discourteous has begun 
meetings in a private house near a dis- 
trict where the Presbyterians already 
had established a mission Sunday School. 
The neighborhood is divided, and already 
a quarrel has arisen as to the use of the 
sobool house for religious services. Has 
an EpwOr'th League which does not work 
with the Endeavor Societies. 

3. Presbyterian — Eev. Hugh Cameron, 
D. D., pastor. A scholarly, refined man, 
who preaches from manuscript. Hais best 
library in Markham. Has refused to 
speak to the factory people in an out-door 
Sunday evening service, because he can- 
not speak extemporaneously. A small 
membership. 

4. Lutheran — Eev. James Wakeheld, 
pastor. An average minister with no par- 
ticular habits to distinguish him. Com- 
plaints frequent in his church that his 
sermons are dull and his prayers long. 

5. Christian — Eev. Frank Eussell, pas- 
tor. Very sensational. Has lantern ser- 
vices, Sunday evening religious concerts, 
and other attractions to secure a crowd. 
Has been repeatedly charged with being a 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


17 


proselyte, drawing* ithe congreg-ations 
from oither churches to his Sunday even- 
ing services. 

6. Episcopal — the Very Eev. Dean Ban- 
dall. A man, in his private life, of great 
social attractions. Well read, and friendly 
in his relations to the other ministers. 
Never was kno\^m to take any public part 
in temperance meetings or any public ef- 
fort for the good of the town. A very 
firm believer in the Apostolic Succession. 
Would possibly preach in a Congregational 
or Presbyterian pulpit, but would never 
invite a minister of either of those denom- 
inations into his pulpit. 

7. Free-Will Baptist — Eev. Alfred 
Towne, pastor. An old man with very 
determined, views on doctrinal questions. 
Has a very small congregation, is poor, and 
not able to preach continuously, owing to 
ill health. 

8. United Presbyterian — Eev. Edward 
Lathrop, pastor. A young man. Very 
conceited and fond of controversy. Has, 
been charged with heresy. Preaches doc- 
trinal sermons against imaginary oppon- 
ents. Has a good voice and is unusually 
good looking. 

9. Cumberland Presbyterian — Eev. 
Paul Ford, pastor. Has built up a small 
conigregation from a few church members 
who drew oif from a large body in a neigh- 
boring town in a quarrel. A man of quick , 


1 8 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

teoixper, jealous, buit •willing- to work 
amoug the poor and sinful. A man of 
naturally brillianit abilities. 

10. Reformed Presbyterian) — Rev. Wal- 
ter Carter, pastor. Middle-aged man, who 
is fearless in his denunciations of the sa- 
loon and either evils. IS ever votes, and 
takes no part in political movements. 
Very pleasant man in private life. A 
good talker. 

11. Adventist — Rev. William Powers, 
Pastor. Uneducated; poorly equipped for 
the ministry. Always preaching his church 
doctrines. 

12. Congregational — Rev. John Procter, 
pastor. Graduate of academy, college and 
seminary. Unduly proiid of that fact. A 
man of strong passions, who thinks all the 
other churches ought to be Congregational 
in order to be truly united. Fonder of 
reading, than of making parish calls. 
Preaches generally from manuscript, and 
does not feel at his ease before a crowd of 
working people, though he is willing to 
face them and do the best he can. Is at 
present the oldest resident pastor in 
Markham, having lived there fifteen 
years.” 

John Proeter smiled a little grfmly 
while writing his ovsnn biography. Then 
he read what he had written about the 
other ministers, and after finishing, he 
slowly but carefully tore the sheets of 


The MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


19 


paper in pieces and threw them into the 
wa'site paper basket. 

“I have no right to judge them,” he 
said aloud. “I have no doubt they are all 
better, more Christian men than I am. 
And yet I believe I have fairly given their 
principal characteristics as ministers. 
Is there any power on earth that can 
unite such a body of men? What can ever 
bring together two such churches as the 
Baptist and Episcopal? Dean Eandall and 
Harris are as opposite as any two men I 
ever saw. They are ais likely to mix as oil 
and water. When I think of church union, 
the real kind, in Markham, I am obliged to 
think of a miracle. Would even a miracle 
unite such men and such churches? And 
yet we all claim to be alike, Christian. 
Why are we not all doing Christian work 
together as He prayed we might?” 

He picked up his pen again and dipped 
it in the ink and held it in his hand until 
the ink had dried. He rose and walked up 
and down, restless and unable to throw 
off the questions he had asked. He re- 
read his son’s letter, and the anger he had 
felt at his first reading, was now largely 
gone. Sadness, a ’deep sadness, born of 
the morning’s experiences, filled his heart. 

“If the churches ever really unite, it will 
be by a miracle,” he said repeatedly. 
When Mrs. Procter gently knocked on his 
study do'pr to announce dinner, John 




20 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

Procter was ^till sitting at liis desk, but 
his head was bowed over the leaves of his 
unfinished sermon, and his spirit was 
faint within him as he thought of his son 
and of the church of Christ in Markham. 



CHAPTER II. 

A CONVERSATION IN THE KITCHEN, 




HILE the Rev. John 


inig* was having 
ithis experience in 


Prociter that morn- 


his study, his wife anid daughter were hav- 
ing an interesting conversation in the 
kitchen. 

Jane Procter was a graduate of the 
state normal school, and one of the teach- 
ers in the public schools of Markham. It 
was the last week of vacation, and she 
was spending the time at home, helping 
her mother with housework. 

When her mother came inlto the kitchen, 
in answer to her call for help in the mak- 
ing a new dish for dinner, Jane Procter 
saw at once that something unusual had 
happened. iShe was as curious as most 
girls, but she did not ask any questions at 
first. After the dish was set in the oven, 
she said: 

“What is the matter, motheir?” 

Mrs. Procter told her the contents of 
William’s letter, adding, “Of course, your 
father and I cannot help feeling very much 
grieved by it. We have never thought of 


22 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


Will as anyithing' else. Your fatihier will 
take it harder than any one.” 

“Mother,” said Jane after a moment of 
silence, “I don’t blame Will any. Isn’t 
what he says, about the churches in 
Granby, true of thousands of towns and 
cities all over the country? Why should 
Will be one more man to struggle after a 
little church and then struggle with it?” 

“It is what his father and his before him 
have done,” sighed ISIrs. Procter. “It is 
the noblest profession there is.” 

“Except teaching, mother. The aver- 
age church touches children once a week, 
but the school touches them five days a 
week.” 

Mrs. Procter did not reply. 

“Don’t you think, mother, that the min- 
istry offers very little now-a-days to a 
young man of any Stroing ambitions?” 

“It is a life full of service,” replied Mrs. 
Prdcter, proudly. 

“Yes, molther, but it is so full of wasted 
strength.” 

“I don’t know about that. There is a 
good deal of wasted strength everywhere. 
But surely, Jane, you can’t help feeling 
some sorrow at William’s decision.” 

“Frankly, mother, I don’t feel a bit. 1 
honor father and his work, of course, but 
it seems to me the life of a minister is not 
very desirable. Just look at the minis- 
ters in Markham. They — 


THB MIRACI,E) AT MARKHAM 


23 





24 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

“Jane,” said her mother, with a little 
of John Procter’s decided tone, “yon 
must no't jud^e.” 

“I am not judging,” said Jane calmly, 
picking up the rolling-pin and uising it nn- 
coimsciously to gesture with. “I was sim- 
ply going to compare. But I won’t even do 
that. I know this very well, mother. 1 
shall never marry a minister.” 

“Has any one of them ever asked you 
to?” Mrs. Procter questioned. 

Jane blushed, and some flour on her 
cheeks made her look very pretty as she 
did so. She began, in some confusion, to 
scrape the dough from the kneading 
board, and did not answer her mother. 

“Forgive me, Jane,” she said coming up 
and putting an arm about her. “Your 
mother is daily and hourly in need of the 
grace of G-od. I asked the question the 
first time, in the wrong way, but I ask it 
again now as your loving mother.” 

Jane scraped away at the dough, until 
she scraped down into the wood. Finally 
she turned her head towards her mother 
and said, slowly: 

“You know that Francis Bandall has 
asked me t'wice?” 

“No, you forget, Jane, that I have never 
talked with you about this, before. I 
might have suspected. But how was I to 
know? Your father and I have always 
believed in giving you all the freedom that 


THK MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


25 


we think a Christian girl ought to have.” 

“I ought to have told you. Francis asked 
me last winter. Just before going back 
to his church, after Christmas,. I said no. 
He wrote me last spring, again. I an- 
swered him the same.” 

Jane’s voice had grown steadier now, but 
her face was still flushed, and she rose 
and nervously began putting away the 
baking things. 

“Do you love him?” Mrs. Procter asked 
the question simply, just as Jane was go- 
ing into the pantry. 

“I’m afraid I do,” answered Jane, after 
a pause, and her mother did not see the 
tear that dropped into a teacup before 
Jane placed it on the shelf. 

“Why are you afraid you do?” asked Mrs. 
Procter with a slight smile that quickly 
changed to a serious look. 

“Beoause, because — ^mother, I have made 
up my mind never to marry a minister.” 

“But Dean EandaH’s son is a very fine 
young man,” said Mrs. Prooter, cautiously. 

“Yes, mother.” 

“He has a noble character?” 

“Yes, mother, I know it.” 

“He is very handsome.” 

“Indeed, he is,” murmured Jane, bend- 
ing her head lower. 

“And you say you love him?” Mrs. Proc- 
ter repeated it gravely. 

“I have never told him so,” replied Jane, 


26 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


softly, “and I never shiall.” 

“Jane,” said her miother, after a pause, 
during" which Jane made an unnecessary? 
cla/tter with some tin thing’s, “if you do 
-not marry the man you love, whom will 
you marry?” 

“I’m g’oing" ito remain single,” said Jane, 
and her voice trembled a little as she said 
it. “I’m going to be just a plodding, 
patient school ma’am as long as I live.” 

“Ytou are twenty-three years old, and 
you must decide this great question, my 
dear, for yourself. But you have been 
taught not to despise the love of a good 
man, Jane. You would not respect Fran- 
cis Randall if he were to give up his pro- 
fession of the ministry to please you?” 

“I would despise him,” said Jane 
promptly. 

“And yet you say you love him, and noth- 
ing but the fact that he is a minister keeps 
you from marrying him?” 

“I don’t know that I love so very much 
after all,” said Jane, a little stubbornly. 
But her look contradicted her voice. 

Mrs. Procter opened her lips to say 
something, but at that moment the bell 
rang, and she went to the front door. 
When she came back, Jane had gone up 
stairs and the conversation was not re- 
newed. 

At dinner that day all three were ab- 
sorbed in the events of the morning, but 


MIRACI^E At MARKHAM 


27 


not much was said. When the meal was 
over, John Procter went out to do some 
parish work, and Jane, after helping in 
the work of the kitchen, went to her room 
again. 

She salt down by a small table, and after 
a. momen't of hesitatioin she opened a 
drawer and took out of it a letter and a 
pho'tograph. She set the photograph up 
against a pile of books on the table, and 
then opened the letter, saying as she did 
so, “Now, Francis Randall, say What you 
have to say again.” 

Pyramid, Col., May 12, 1897. 
Miss Jane Procter, Markham, O. : 

Dear Jane — It is almost six months since I 
asked you to share your life with mine, and 
this letter is simply to tell you that I have not 
been able to accept your answer as final. You 
know, well enough, that I love you wholly, as 
a man should who asks a woman to be his 
wife. I am in doubt as to your real feeling to- 
wards me, Jane, but if you do love me, nothing 
ought to keep your life from mine. You said 
you would never marry a minister. I am sure 
you would never become my wife if I left the 
ministry, and you know me at least well 
enough to know that I can never abandon the 
choice of my life work. 

But I need you. That sounds selfish. If you 
love me at all, you will understand how far 
from selfish is my need. Won’t you, can’t you, 
marry me, Jane? My little church here is in 
the midst of a rough mining camp, and my 
salary is small. But I have a growing income 
from my little stories. I can make two people 
very comfortable, Jane, even out here. There 


28 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


was something in the way you said “No,” 
last Christmas, Jane, that made me feel I 
might some time hear you you say “Yes.” 
That is my only excuse for writing to you. If 
you will let me come to you, no man will be 
happier or prouder, or more thankful to the 
good God, than your lover, 

Francis Randall. 

“ ‘Than your lover, Francis Eandall,’ ” 
repeated Jane, softly. “As if I had only 
one, and he ithait one,” she added, with a 
small frown, and then looking directly at 
the photograph she said aloud: “No, I 
will never marry you, sir. I am not fitted 
to be a minister’s wife. A little Episcopal 
church in a new mining camp out West! 
Jane Procter, it would be foolishness. 
You always said you would n)ot marry a 
minister. If he was only Congregational, 
or something nearer my own churclh! But 
it’s the ministry itself. I can’t! I can’t! 
But I do love him! — said I would never 
tell him so!” 

She suddenly snatched the photograph 
from its prominent place on the table, and 
thrust it into the drawer and shuit it. 
And then she spread the letter out on the 
table and laid her cheek upon it and cried 
softly. 

In the Eev. John Procter’s study on the 
evening of that eventful day in the par- 
sonage, there was a real Struggle going on 
in the heart of the minister. The letter 
from his son had stirred emotions that 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


29 


lay deep and strong- in tbe older man. 
The problem of the town which he had 
grown to love through hiis long' residence 
in it, had never before stood out so sharp- 
ly ais today. 

He had given up the text and subject of 
his sermon, and was planning something 
entirely different for the coming Lord’s 
Day. 

He stood by the window and watched the 
harvest moon rise. It came up so as to 
make sharp and distinet against its yel- 
low disk a dhurch steeple. It was the 
steeple of his own church. When it passed 
out of sight, Hev. John Procter turned 
away and thoughtfully walked up and 
down a long time. A strong and growing 
conviction had entered his life. From 
that day he would never be able to say 
that a more domimant passion ruled his 
ministry than the passion" for a united 
church in Markham and the world. Still, 
as he walked, and his soul burned within 
him, came the old questions raised by his 
religious census of the place, and his own 
doubts. 

“Can these ministers and churches be 
brought together? Can it be done with- 
out a real miracle? How shall it ever be 
brought about? Can Christ’s prayer be 
answered here in this place, and His ser- 
vants, His disciples, be one, even as He 
was with the Father?” 


MIRACI,:^ AT MARKHAM 

And he was still asking* these solemn 
questions when ithe clock in his own 
church Steeple sounded the hour of twelve, 
and anoither of God’s g'reat days of life 
had hegnun for a world of priceless and 
immortal, hut unredeemed, humanity. 



I. ■ ’ : 



CHAPTER III. 

DEAN RANDALL RECEIVES A LETTER. 

r was tihe mo r ruing’ 
after John Procter 
hia>d received his 
disquieting letter 
from his son, thait 
Dean Kandall was 
reading in his 
study in the Manse 
which was built 
close by the cathe- 
dral. 

Dean Randall was a man between forty- 
five and fifty, well built, with a church- 
man’s face and dress. No one would ever 
mistake him for any other than a clergy- 
man. There was, however, no(thing 
priestly, in the narrow or offensive sense, 
in his appearance. It was said in Mark- 
hiam that he stood a good chance sometime 
of being made a bishop. 

He had been reading for an hour and had 
laid the book down to dio some writing, 
when a servant brought him a letter. 

It was said long afterwards that among 
the many aistoniishing things that occurred 
in Miarkhaim that winter it was a lilttle re- 
markable as a coincidence that two short 
letters written by two young men, each to 
his father, a minister, had much to do with 



32 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


the result lof very inuportant eveiuts. 

(The Deam openeid the letter qiiieitly, but 
he had not read far, when his face sihowed 
sig’nis of some deep feeling. .What caused 
that feeling, can be shown by knowing the 
contents of the entire letter. 

The letter was dated at “Pyramid, Col.,” 
and was from the Dean’s son, Francis: 

Dear Father — I have already written you 
quite a complete account of this mining camp 
and something of my church work and of tlie 
people who make up my parish; but I have not 
told you much about my relations to the othei 
churches here. 

There are, perhaps, twelve hundred people in 
Pyramid at present, and the place is rapidly 
filling up. There are six church organizations; 
Congregational, Presbyterian, Baptist, Metho- 
dist, Catholic and my own. The Baptist and 
Methodist people have no church buildings, but 
meet every Sunday in a store room, one de- 
nomination in the morning, the other in the 
afternoon, in the same place. 

But what I w’rite this particular letter for is 
to tell you a little of my experience with one 
of the other clergymen. I met with an acci- 
dent a month ago. I wrote you nothing of it 
because I did not wish to alarm mother. 

The mountains all about here are full of 
prospecting shafts. In crossing over the range 
one night to see a sick miner, I fell into one of 
these shafts. Fortunately it was not deep, but 
I sprained my ankle and was severely bruised. 
I might have lain there uncomfortably all 
night, if I had not been found by the Congrega- 
tional minister who had been out on a sim- 
ilar errand with mine. To make a long story 
short, he succeeded in getting me into his own 
house, where I am now staying. 


THE MIRACEB at MARKHAM 


S3 


It is impossible for me to tell you, father, 
all that has led up to my present convictions 
relating to church matters. 

This little accident is but an incident in the 
whole course of events, I am sure, and yet it 
has had something to do wth my changed 
views. You know I never felt the importance 
that so many of our clergymen have felt, of 
emphasizing the ritualistic part of our church 
life. Since having a church of my own in this 
wild mining camp, with a parish that calls for 
a very plain human service, coming down 
close to the coarse, common, necessary things 
of daily life, I have come to regard lees and 
less the forms and ceremonies and traditions 
of our church and to feel more and more the 
longing to simply give this parish the thing 
it most ought to have, and that is the gospel of 
daily bread for daily needs. 

You will be startled now, father, by what I 
tell you. Last Sunday I invited the Congrega- 
tional minister to preach to my people in my 
church. His building has been undergoing 
some repairs, and could not be used. My lame 
ankle, which has been very stubborn to heal, 
made it impossible for me to leave my friend’s 
house, so that I could not be present at the 
service. I have heard, however, that the peo- 
ple enjoyed a good sermon. He read the 
prayers, and the service was the same as us- 
ual, except that he lid not wear the gown in 
the pulpit. He offered to do so, but as he is 
a rather small man, and I am over six feet and 
large in proportion, and there is only one gown 
in the church wardrobe, it seemed foolish to 
Insist on such an unimportant thing. 

I understand there has been a little talk about 
this. Some of my people think it was very ir- 
regular. They have only words of praise for 
the sermon, however. It was practical, and 
helped everybody. 


34 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


I have been thinking, as I lay here in this 
little room, and growing to like my friends, 
the Congregational minister and his wife, more 
anu more, if there is not some way in which 
our two churches can unite more closely to do 
the same work. Exchanging pulpits is a very 
small matter. It might, or might not, mean 
a real u^ion of church life. I have talked it 
over with Mr. Clark. He is ready to work with 
us on any basis oi service to the whole camp. 
I am sure we can accomplish much more to- 
gether than separately, and possibly prevail 
on the other churches to enter upon the same 
fellowship. 

I do not know how much you can sympathize 
with me, dear father, in this matter. I have 
no doubt you are disturbed by a part of this 
letter. If so, it is simply because I have 
frankly told you my inmost thought. The 
Episcopal Church means less to me every day 
than the Christian work that the church ougnt 
to do. I find in my correspondence with the 
younger men in our denomination, that many 
of them feel as I do. We are entering a new 
period of church history, and I believe, father, 
that the next twenty-five years will witness 
great changes in the customs and traditions of 
our own beloved church. 

There is one other matter I have had in mind 
to write you about for some time. Mother 
knows, and perhaps she has told you, al- 
though she said when I was home last Christ- 
mas, that she hesitated to speak to you about 
it. 

I love Jane Procter, the daughter of your 
neighbor, John Procter, and have asked her to 
be my wife. She has refused to marry me 
because I am a clergyman. Her refusal has not 
changed, in any particuar, my feeling for her 
The time may come when she will share my life 
with me. However that may be, father, I wish 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


35 


you to know how matters are. You urged me, 
in your last letter, to have a home of my own 
for the good of the parish and myself, iour 
letter led me to believe that you knew nothing 
of this part of my life. I shall never marry 
any one but Jane Procter. 

If I have hurt you in any way by anything 
in this letter, it is more painful to me than to 
you. A young man is apt to think that he 
knows more and better tiian his elders. But I 
am positively sure that for myself the value 
of much that our church has counted dear in* 
the past, is rapidly passing away. I see more 
clearly every day the needs of the souls of men. 
Regardless to a great extent of past forms and 
customs, I am determined to go on in my min- 
istry with the one fixeu purpose of building 
up the kingdom of God, rather than the Epis- 
copal Church. If this shall mean a vital and 
even organic union with all the other denomin- 
ations, I shall welcome it as I would welcome a 
personal visit from Jesus Christ. 

Give much love to mother; 

Your affectionate son, Francis. 

Dean Randiall held his son’s letter in his 
hand for a long time after be had finiished 
reading it. There wafs nothing in the let- 
ter similar to that which John Procter had 
received from his son, except the complete 
frankness with which the confession of the 
yo'ung men’s religious experiences was 
made, and at first Dean Randall was af- 
fected very much as John Procter was. 

He was disturbed, and even angry. 
Never once during his own ministry of 
over thirty years, had he dreamed of invit- 
ing into his pulpit a clergymian of another 


36 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

denoaninaitdon. It seemed to Mm like the 
brealdng up of the entire system 'of church 
order to think of such a thing. He had 
always lived on pleasant terms with the 
other ministers, but his relations to them 
and theiir churches were for the most part 
purely social, never religious. 

That confesstion of his son’s, however, 
did not affect him so disag'reeably as the 
• general tone of the letter which looked 
like the breaking up of all the traditional 
accepted customs of the Episcopal Church. 
Could he, Dean Eandall, ever think of such 
a thing as uniting in any organic way with 
any other church in Markham? 

The favorite picture in his study, was 
Hoffman’s “Christ in Gethsemane.” It 
hung just above his writing desk. An im- 
pulse he could not explain, led the Dean to- 
wards this picture, now. 

Sometime near to that moment in 
Christ’s life He had prayed the great 
prayer that His disciples might be one. The 
Dean could not drive away the thought 
that Jesus was not thinking during that 
supreme moment so much of the advance- 
ment of any particular church as of the 
Kingdom of God on earth. 

He looked away from the picture, and 
his eyes rested on a bundle of letters in one 
of the pigeon holes of his desk. Among 
thois^e letters was one from a very power- 
ful and influential member of the ordei of 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


37 


Bishops in his diocese, in which he gave 
Dean Randall almosit a positive a-ssnrance 
that he was the next mian who would, in 
all probability, be chosen as Bishop for a 
near vacancy. 

Clergymen have their ambitions as well 
as politicians or other men. 

This was the ambition of Dean RandaH’s 
life; the Bishopric. His son’s letter dis- 
turbed this dream. If the Episcopal 
Church and its traditions were to become 
secondiary in Dean Randall’s parish, to 
the building of God’s kingdom by union 
with other Christian bodies, what would 
become of that chance for the Bishop’s 
office? There was no hope of receiving 
that honor unless he remained faithful to 
the old established traditions of the Epis- 
copal Church. 

The Dean was noit willing to face the 
question in that bald uncompromising 
manner. He felt the need of putting off the 
whole matter, and, rising, he opened his 
study door and called for his wife. 

She came in from the dining room, which 
was adjoining. The Dean gave her the let- 
ter without a word. 

The study door w^as ajar, and the servant 
at work in the dining room, heard Mrs. 
Randall exclaim: 

*‘What! The poor boy! Fell down one 
of those horrible mining shafts! Oh, he 
must be Id lied !” 


38 


THIC MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 


The servanit listeiied carefully, but heard 
only a low reply made by the Dean, which 
she could not make out. Then the study 
door was shut, and only the murmur of the 
two voices from within, reached her ear. 

She went out into the Mtchen just as the 
market man came into the back porch, and 
while he was taking some vegetables out 
of his basket, she said: 

“Have you hea,rd the news? Mr. Fran- 
cis fell down one of the mines out in Col- 
oirado, and was probably killed. I just 
heard Mrs. Randall say so, in the study. 
She’s in there now, with the Dean. They 
had a letter from Pyramid, this morning.” 

“You don’t say,” said the market man, 
sympathetically. 

“Well! That’ll be a blow to them. Young 
Mr. Randall was a likedy young mam. 
There’s no telling what risks folks run in 
those weistern mining towns.” 

“That’s ISO,” said the servant as she 
picked up 'the vegetables and went into the 
house. . , 

The market mian went his way with a bit 
of interesting news to retail along with his 
fruit and vegetables. • 

He stopped at Rev. John Procter’s house 
very soon, for the two ministers lived in 
the same block. 

Mrs. Procter did not keep a servant, but 
•a woman was at the parsonage that morn- 
ing, washing. 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


39 


“You don’t say,” slhe excla/imed, as she 
straightened up from her tub and faced 
the market man. “Poor fellow! Terribly 
mangled, you say he was? I’m sorry for 
his father and mother.” 

“What’s that, Mrs. Brown?” asked Mrs. 
Procter coming out into the shed. Jane 
was just inside the open kitchen door wip- 
ing the breakfast dishes. They had 
breakfast quite late at the parsonage some 
mornings. 

“Why, mia’am,” said Mrs. Brown, eagerly 
anxious to get ahead of the market man, 
“Mr. Francis Eandall, the Dean’s son, out 
at Pyramid, Col., was killed by falling' 
down one of those mines out there. 
Killed instantly. His folks got the news 
thi— ” 

There was a sudden crash of broken 
crockery as Jane let the dish she was wip- 
ing, drop. The next minute she was in the 
shed, her white face trembling as she 
seized Mrs. Brown by the arm. 

“Who said so?” she asked in almost a 
fierce voice. 

“Ask him,” said Mrs. Brown pointing in 
a frightened way to the market man who 
was just going out of the yard. 

Jane rushed out of the shed, and did not 
heed her mother’s cry, “Jane! Jane! ,Gome 
back. Perhaps it is not true.” 

“Who told you?” she asked the man as 
he paused by his wagon in wonder at her 


40 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


sudden appeiarance and strange manner. 

“Told me what?” 

“Who told you that Francis Randall was 
killed?” 

“0! I heard it straight from the girl at 
the Manse. She heard Mrs. Randall — ” 

But Jane was gone down the sidewalk, 
running with gasps and sobs towards the 
Manse, crying as she ran: “Oh, it can’t be 
true! It can’t be true!” 

The Dean and Mrs. Randall were still in 
the study talking over their son’s letter, 
when they heard the front door bell ring 
sharply. A moment after, voices sounded 
in the hall and quickly came into the din- 
ing room. Then there was a sudden 
knock on the study door, and when the 
Dean opened it, to his amazement Jane 
Procter confronted him and his wife, crj’-- 
ing out hystericall 3 '’: 

“He isn’t dead, is he?” 

“Who isn’t dead?” asked the Dean stup- 
idly, but Mrs. Randall caught Jane’s arm 
and drew her to her. 

“No, no, he isn’t dead. Who said so?” 

Jane fell into her arms sobbing out 
something they could not understand. 
The Dean picked up his glasses which had 
fallen on the floor in the excitement and 
with a slight smile on his scholarly face 
he patted Jane on the head. 

Jane ceased to sob, but after a minute of 
silence she looked up nnd whispered to 


THK MIRACI^K AT MARKHAM 


41 



“he isn’t dead, is he?” 



42 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAJM 


Mrs. Kandall. “You’re sure he isn’t fatally 
hurt?” 

“There’s his letter.” Mrs. Eandall held 
it out. “I think his father and mother are 
more diang^erously hurt than he is,” she 
added with a side look at the Dean. 

“Oh,” said Jane looking up and glancing 
at the Dean. He had turned around and 
was pretending to be busy wdth something 
at his desk. Mrs. Kandall, like the wise 
woman she was, put an arm about Jane 
and walked with her out of the study into 
the music room. 

The two women had a little talk to- 
gether. It is not quite clear whether 
Jane felt better or worse for the exhibi- 
tion of her feeling. Mrs. Randall had tears 
in her eyes when Jane linially went a.way. 

As for Jane, she, somewhat abashed, 
walked slowly home. On the way she said 
once, “If he had HAD been killed — but no 
— I cannot, — ^I will not marry him even if 
I do, — if I do think a good deal of him.” 

And so, when the school term opened the 
next week, Jane went back to her old 
work, her life work as she called it, but 
the heart of every true healthy man or 
wioman is hungry for love, and Jane, as 
she listened to the droning of the chil- 
dren’s voices in the school room, often 
had a vision of the pale face of a very tall 
young man sitting with a bandaged foot 
in a Oongregationail minister’s house O'ut 


. THE’MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


43 


in ColoTado, and in her heart she forg^ave 
the servant, and the market man, and the 
wash-woman for saying that Francis Kan- 
dall was dead, becanse he was not dead at 
all, not even in her heart in spite of her 
stubborn repetition of the words, “No, L 
will never marry a minister!” 


CHAPTER IV. 

WILLIAM LEAVES ANDOVER. 


BOUT a month after 
that letter from Fran- 
cis llandall had caused 
such a disturbance in 
the family circle of 
two homes, the Eev. 
John Proctor came in 
late from parish calls 
with another letter, 
which he read aloud to his wife and Jane 
at the supper table: 

“ Dear Father, Mother and Jane,” the letter was 
from William. “I have at last made up my mind to 
leave Andover and try my fortune for a time at least, 
in one of the miningcampsof Colorado. I have tried 
a number of things here and do not make any of 
them go. A son of one of the professors here is part 
owner of the ore reduction mills at Pyramid. He 
wants a man who understands chemistry to act as 
assistant superintendent in the mill. I am pretty 
well up in chemistry as I made it a special study in 
college. I have written asking for the position if is 
still open, and if is I shall be on the way inside of a 
week. 

” Please don’t feel that my life is a failure or any 
thing of that sort. I am having a struggle at present 
with my life long habits of church loyalty, and the 
work I am going into now is totally different from 
all you have dreamed of for me, but I believe it is all 
I can do just now. I would rather you would not say 
any thing to Dean Randall’s family about my going 
to Pyramid. Of course I know their sou is there. We 
have been away so much to school and college that 






THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


45 


you know we have not been very well acquainted, 
and the way I feel now, (tumbled up and down in 
my mind,”) as John Bunyan says, I wouid rather not 
meet him. I should be sure to say something to hurt 
his churchman’s feelings. Of course in that little 
camp I may run across him soon anyway. If I do I 
presume he would not care to renew our small ac- 
quaintance. 

‘‘The hard physical work will, I hope, make a man 
of me again. In any case I do not want you to feel 
deeply disappointed in the way I have turned out. 

Your loving William. 

John Procter said very little. Mrs. 
Procter cried over the letter, Jane had a 
variety o(f emiotions. There was another 
part of her life in that mining- camp now, 
thoug-h she was honestly puzzled to know 
why her broither did no't want to meet 
Frarnois Randall. 

“I’ll answer the letter and take it down 
to the office before the eastern mail g-oes 
out,” said John Procter. “It will reach 
Will before he starts west.” 

“It seems strange he does not say any- 
thing about stopping to see us on his way,” 
said Mrs. Procter, sadly. 

“That is what I was going to urge him to 
do,” said John Procter, gravely. 

He wrote a serious, loving letter to his 
son. He did nott say one word of reproval. 
But he urged him, for his mother’s and 
Jane’s sake, to stop at Markham on^ his 
,way West. 

The letter reached Andover the day be- 
fore William was to start. He had been 


46 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


given the plaice in the mill, and there was 
no hesitation in his mind about g^oing, but 
the letter from his father touched him. 
He thought it over that night, and next 
day he hought his ticket mth a stop-iover 
privilege. 

John Procter was at the station to meet 
him when the train came in. People on 
the platform saw a rather slight, pale- 
faced young man come down to meet the 
older one. They shook hands silently 
with a simple, “How do you do, father?” 
T am glad to see you, William.” 

Inside the parsonage, William showed 
more emotion when his mother and 
Jane met him and kissed him. The tears 
were in his eyes as he took off his coat and 
hung up his hat in the familiar hall. He 
was at home. 

During the two days that followed, John 
Procter and his son had some very earnest 
talks together. There had been a secret 
hope in the father’s mind that his son 
might reconsider his determination to go 
out of the ministry forever. 

“I don’t deny. Will,” his father said, as 
uhey sat in the study going over all the ar- 
guments they were so familiar with, “I 
don’t deny that the church of Christ in the 
world is far from being what He prayed it 
might be. But do you think we shall help 
to bring in the millennium quicker by 
abandoning the church and trying to do 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


47 


Christian work outside instead of inside 
the organization?” 

“I cannot decide for any one else, 
father,” said William, and his pale blue 
eyes spoke of a resolution that could not 
be changed. “It is useless for me to think 
f doing MY Christian work in a pulpit. 1 
Would fail, as any man ought to fail who 
tries to work where his heart is not in 
it.” 

John Procter sighed and gave up all ef- 
ort after that conversation to change his 
son’s views. The only approach he made 
to the subject again was just before Wil- 
iam stepped on the train that carried him 
west. 

“You can preach from the pulpit of your 
nill out there,” be suggested. 

William knew what he meant. He re- 
plied as he shook hands very hard, “Yes 
father, I haven’t lost my faith in Christ as 
Master, if I have lost faith in the church as 
my workshop.” 

He stood a moment on the rear platform 
of the oar, lookiug earnestly at the litth^ 
home group standing on the station plat- 
orm, and then turned back to the parson- 

There was one little incident in Wil- 
iam’s stop at Markham that has a place in 
this narrative and belongs to the series of 
events that made important history in the 
lives of several persons in both Markham 
and Pyramid. 


48 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

The eame ©veninig' he had had tha^t last 
talk with his father, Williaan was in his 
old room up stairs packing his trunk, * put- 
ting into it carefully, some things that 
his mother and Jane had made for him. 

Jane came in bringing some things as 
William kneeled by the open trunk. He 
was just putting i«to one of the pockets 
of the tray a package of letters and pho- 
tographs. 

“Want to see some of my Seminary 
classmates?” he asked, as he handed her 
the case of pictures. 

Jane sat down on the floor by the trunk 
and began to take out the pictures. Wil- 
liam continued his packing. 

“Do they let girls study for the ministry 
at Andover?” Jane asked. 

“What’s that?” 

“Is that one of your classmiates at An- 
dover?” Jane asked, as she turned the face 
of an attractive looking young woman to- 
wards William. 

“Give me that!” cried William, with a 
rudeness so unusual for his gentle spirit 
that Jane was hurt by it. 

She handed him the photograph and rose 
to leave the room, but was recalled by a 
new tone of voice from William. 

“Don’t go, Jane. I’m upset. I thought 
I had lost the picture. Come back. I 
want to tell you something.” 

Jane’s curiosity was stronger than her 


0 


THE MIRACEK AT MARKHAM 49 

momentary feeling-, and she came back at 
once and sat down by the trunk ag-adn, 

“That is the face of the girl jl love,” said 
William, gravely. 

“1 don’t see anything dreadful about it, 
.Will. She looks like a very nice girl.” 

' Will wais silent. He turned to the trunk 
igain. 

“Tell me. Will,” said Jane, putting an 
arm around his neck as she sat by him. 

“There isn’t much to tell,” said William 
in a muffled voice, as he threw a book into 
the trunk. “We were engaged, and when 
I ehanged views about going on with the 
ministry, she^ — well, we talked it over and 
agreed it would be wiser to break the en- 
gagement. She said she could not marry 
ne if I was not going to be a minister.” 

“How funny that is!” exclaimed Jane, 
uddenly. 

“I don’t see anything funny about it,” 
said William gloomily, as he turned away 
from his sister. 

“Oh, but it is,” replied Jane. “Because, 
Will, — I, — you see — ^this girl won’t marry 
>^u unless you are a minister, and I won’t 
— ‘that is — I have made up my mind never 
to marry any one who is a minister. If 
we could only straighten things out. They 
seem so mixed, somehow.” 

William did not answer. Finally Jane 
stole la little closer and laid her cheek 
against his, and then William knew that 


50 


THE MIRAGES AT MARKHAM 


she was crying, because her cheek was wet. 

“Dear mie!” he cried in some bewilder- 
ment. “Are you, have you been disap- 
po'inted in love, too, Jane?” he asked, for- 
getting, for a moment, his own experience. 

“No,” said Jane, crying a little harder. 
“I am not disappointed. That isn’t the 
Word.” But she would not tell William 
anything -more, and after finding out that 
the Andover girl was a daughter of one of 
the professors and also a teacher in the 
public schools,' like herself, she went out 
and left 'William to himself. 

“Girls are so queer,” he said, as he fin- 
ished his packing. The missing photo- 
graph did not go back into the trunk, but 
into an inside pocket, and out into that raw 
mining camp with its strange experiences, 
William Proctor, once theologian, but now 
assistant superintendent in the Golconda 
Mill, carried a sore heart, as well as a dis- 
turbed religious spirit. 

He had been in Pyramid two weeks, and 
was beginning to get acquainted with his 
new strange duties in the mill, when one 
evening he had a call from Francis Ean- 
dall. 

William was dressied in his workman’s 
clothes and, like every other man in the 
mill, was covered -with dusit and grime. 
The rattle of the machinery, the glow of 
the mixing carriagei as it regularly 
emerged from its white "hot furnace and 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


51 


rolled on its circular track radliating- its 
initenisie heat 'as it traveled ceaselessly 
around, the splashing ot the chemical 
stream running over the zinc reservoirs, 
all combined to make the surroundings 
of the new assistant superintendent full 
of interest 'to one who had never seen 
them. 

William had stepped to the door of one 
of the large vat rooms, and was standing 
there enjoying a breath of pure air. He 
had inhaled more than usual chlorine gas 
that afternoon, and the choking sensation 
combined with his unuisual efforts to ac- 
custom his lungs to the great altitude of 
Pyramid, gave his face a pallor almost like 
one in a dead faint. 

As he stood dn the door, Randall came up, 
and before he had time to draw back in- 
to the vat room, the clergyman had put 
out a hand, saying vdry heartily as he did 
so: 

“Glad to see you, Procter. I heard from 
one of the Andover professors, a friend of 
father’s, that you were here. You’re not 
sick, I hope?” 

He added the words as he saw William’s 
face closer in the evening light. 

“Nothing serious. I’ve taken in a little 
more of Chlorine than is go'od for me. 
Excuse me for not shaking hands. These 
rubber gloves don’t come off easy.” 

“Yes, I know.” Francis spoke with a 


52 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


quiet mainnier that made William feel as if 
he was as well dressed as the clerg'yman. 
That was one of the good things about 
Randall. He never impressed anybody 
\vith his own superiority of dress. 

The two young men stood talking a few 
minutes by the door, and then Randall 
started on. 

“I’ll be very glad if you’ll come and see 
me,” said Randall. “I’m stopping, for the 
present with Mr. Clark, the Congrega^ 
tional minister. I have a room there. If 
you want any books at any time,, my li- 
brary is at your disposal.” 

“Thank you,” said William. He did not 
say that he would come, and Francis did 
not appear to notice it. 

“He never said a word about church, or 
coming to hear him, or anything of that 
sort,” said William to himself, as he 
turned back into the vat room. “He seems 
like a sensible sort of fellow, but I suppose 
he is high church enough when it comes 
to his preaching and ritual and all that. 
Guess I’ll have to go to church next Sun- 
day and hear him.” 

And when Sunday came, he went with 
some curiosity to hear Randall preach. 
Some interesting things came of that cur- 
iosity, which belong to the history of 
Markham fully as much as to that of 
Pyramid. 

Meanwhile Dean Randall vnas unable to 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


53 


- throw off the impression made by his son’s 
letter. In spite of Ms attempt to forg'et 
it, the strug'gle in his mind grew. It final- 
ly narrowed down to the plain question of 
his personal ambition for the Bishopric and 
the opi>ortunity to use his church for the 
growth of Christianity. His own ambition 
and the cause of Christ were finally in open 
and unmistakable confiict. 

It must be said this result had not been 
reached isuddemly. Dean Randall’s experi- 
ence fpr several yeiars had been silently 
and slowly shaping matters. His son’s let- 
ter was only one additional influence. But 
while the people in his parish and the citi- 
zens of Markham and the ministers of the 
other churches never dreamed of an} 
struggle in the life of the scholarly re- 
served Episcopal clergyman, there wa 
daily growing in the Episcopal Manse, a 
conflict which was the conflict between a 
personal selfish narrow ambition, and the 
World-wide power of the cross, — 'a struggle 
as old as Gethsemane and always full of th( 
most intense and vital interest to the hu- 
man race. 

At the end of three weeks after the re- 
ception of his son’s letter, the Dean’s con- 
flict had reached a crisis. How great that 
risis was, not even he knew. But he was 
soon to have the clearest and severest test 
made of his church life. That test was 
jaused by a natural event. 


54 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


The Dean was in his study Friday night. 
It was late, but he kept on writing. Once 
he looked up at his “Christ in Gethsem- 
anie.” The wind was blowing hard, and 
shook the windows and whistled sharply 
down the broad chimney. 

Towards miunight, the Dean went to his 
window and looked out. He had been 
standing thene several minutes, when he 
noticed an unusual light in the Congrega- 
tional Church. 

John Procter had a study room in the 
church, but he seldom used it at night. 
The Dean stood watching the gleam 
through the windows of the vestry. It 
grew stronger. Suddenly, a sharp tongue 
of flame shot through the vvdndow over one 
of the doors, and the Dean knew at once 
what the light was. 

He ran into the other room and called 
out to his wife: “The Congregational 
Church is on Are!” He snatched his hat 
and ran out. 

By the time he had reached the church, 
flames were leaping out of the little win- 
dows above the bell in the steeple.. Al- 
most the entire town turned out. With 
• he help of the Are department they saved 
the parsonage, but the church was com- 
pletely destroyed. The people drew back 
in awe as the sieeple fell upon the roof, 
blowm by the gale which seemed to drive 
the tall, blazing torch through the air like 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAJM 


55 


a giant spear down through the timbers. 

John Procter and his wife and Jane 
stood in the parsonage yard looking at the 
smoldering heap. That was several hours 
after the church was first seen to be on 
fire. A group of neighbors and church 
members stood near the minister’s famli3% 

The Dean came up. He had been work- 
ing hard, with scores of other men, carry- 
ing John Procter’s books out when it 
looked as if the parsonage must go with 
the church. He had also helped to carry 
them back again, when the danger was 
over. Several times during the excite- 
ment he had noticed Mr. Harris, the Bap- 
tist' minister, hard at work. Once they 
had hold of the same box containing some 
valuable papers and pictures from John 
Procter’s library. 

“Well,” John Procter was saying to one 
of his parishioners, “This is one less church 
building in Markham, at any rate.” 

“Very sorry for you, neighbor,” said the 
Dean. He was blackened and a little 
burned. His coat was torn across the 
back, and his whole appearance was very 
unministerial. 

“Very kind of you. Dean Eandall,” said 
John Procter, shaking hands with him, 
heartily. “I can’t say that I would like to 
db the same thing for you, some time, but 
I certainly owe you much and appreciate 
your kindness.” 


56 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

“You won’t have any place to preach 
next Sunday,” said Mr. Harris, before the 
Dean could reply. “We shall be glad to 
offer your people the use of tlie Baptist 
Church in the morning.” 

John Procter was undoubtedly aston- 
ished. He said to himself, “I have done 
Harris an injustice.” Aloud he said: 

“Thank you, heartily, Harris. 1 accept 
your offer for my people, with pleasure.” 

The Dean hesitated. No one there in 
that disheveled group of people standing 
about the ruins of that church building, 
had any idea that one of their number 
was having a battle with himself beside 
which the recent fight with the fire was 
insignificant. 

It was on the lips of the Dean to say, 
“We shall be glad to give, your people the 
use of the Cathedral in the evening, 
neighbor.” 

.. But he checked himself with the thought 
of the astonishment that would come into 
all those people’s faces at such an invita- 
tion. 

He had taken a step towards John Proc- 
ter. He now stepped back, and after 
another strange hesitation he walked 
away. 

When he reached home, he lay down on 
his lounge in the study. It was nearly 
morning. His wife thought he was 
asleep. He was broad awake and asking 


the miracee at Markham 



58 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


himse^lf the qiieistion, “Shall I invite Proc- 
ter to use my pulpit next Sunday or the 
Sundhy after?” Simple as the question 
was, upon its answer depended the fu- 
ture ambitioin of the Dean. But when the 
morning' finally dawned, the question had 
not found an answer. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE POWER OF CHRISTIAN COMMiTNIT'k. 

T was Sunday morning 
in Markham, after the 
burning of the Congre- 
tional Church. John 
Procter was in his 
study reading over the 
sermon which he ex- 
pected to preach in 
the Baptist Church. 

He had chosen a written sermon which 
he had preached to his own people sev- 
eral years before. It was* one of his best, 
so his wife said. There was nothing in it 
which could possibly offend any one of any 
other denominlation. “It was a sermon 
just ais good for one man as for another,” 
John Pro'cter said tO' himself, as he walked 
up P.nd down, turning over the manuscript 
to familiarize himself with the sentences. 
He asked himself onee or twice why every 
seinion was not good for all men alike. 

It was nearly half pasit ten o’clock, and 
he was about to come out of the study and 
call his wife and daughter, w'hen Jane 
knocked at the door, and when he opened 
it, handed him a note. 

“The serTant brought it over just now 
from the Dean,” she said. “She is waiting 
for an answer.” 



6o 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


John ProoteT wias surprised. The Dean 
had never written him a letter, and he 
had no possible hint as to what the note 
eomained. 'It was therefore in the great- 
est astonishment that John Procter read 
the following: 

My Dear Brother and Neighbor:— I under- 
stand that Brother Cameron, of the Presbyter- 
ian Church, has invited you to speak from his 
pulpit this evening, but if it does not seem 
to you to come too late to be hearty, will you 
accept my invitation to occupy the pulpit of 
Grace Cathedral next Sunday morning? If you 
will reply by a word and send it over by the 
servant, I will announce to my people at my 
service this morning, and Brother Harris can 
do the same from his pulpit. Mrs. Randall 
joins me in sympathy with you for your loss, 
and congratulates Mrs. Procter and yourself 
on the saving of your parsonage. 

In Christ’s name, 

Your brother and neighbor, 

Nathan Randall. 

If the Dean had come into his study and 
tired a gun at him, John Proeter could 
hardly have been more astonished than he 
was by the reception of this note. He 
rubbed his eyes and read the noite again. 
There was no mistake about it. The Dean 
had actually invlteid him to preach in the 
Episcopal Church. It was an unheard of 
thing. It had never happened in Mark- 
ham, before. Put even In the midst of 
his astonishment and excitement, John 
Procter said to himtself, “I don’t know why 
I ought to be astonished. If we are ail 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 6l 

a] ike Christians, why not?” In spite of 
that, he was astonished a good deal and 
much perplexed. He stood a moment with 
the note in his hand. Then he remembered 
that the servant was waiting. He stepped 
out into the hall. Mrs. Procter and Jane 
were ready for church and waiting for him. 

“Are you ready, John? It is time to 
go,” said Mrs. Procter. 

“Read that,” said John Procter, handing 
the Bean’s note to her. 

“Why, he has actually invited you to 
preach in Grace Cathedral!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Procter. 

“He is waiting for an answer,” said John 
Procter, thoughtfully. 

“There’s only one answer to give to such 
an invitation, John.” 

John Procter looked at his wife and 
daughter and then stepped back into his 
study and wrote his reply. It was very 
short, but he experienced more emotion 
while writing it than he had felt over the 
composition of most of his sermons. 

My Dear Brother— I am glad to accept your 
invitation to preach next Sunday morning in 
Grace Cathedral. I accept it in the same 
spirit of Christian fellowship which prompts 
you to make it. We thank you for your sym- 
pathy, and pray for great blessings on you and 
jmur people today. 

To the Very Rev. Dean Randall, Grace Cathe- 
d»*al. Your neighbor, 

John Procter. 


62 


THE MIRACI^E; at MARKHAM 


He sent his note over to the Manse by 
he servant, and with Mrs. Procter and 
Jane, started for the Bapitist Church. 

“\Yere you ever more surprised in your 
life?” asked Mrs. Procter as they walked 
along. 

“No, I donU know as I ever was,” said 
John Procter, gravely. 

“Mrs. Eandiall told me that Franci — ^that 
her son out in Pyramid, had lately in- 
vited the Congregational minister there to 
preach in his pulpit,” said Jane, giving out 
some of the confidence Mrs. Eandall had 
shared with her that day when she had run 
over to the Manse. 

“The father is following his son’s exam- 
ple in this case,” said Mrs. Procter with a 
slight smile. 

“It is very remarkable.” John Procter’s 
mind was excited by the event, butt he 
was silent until they reached the church. 
Mrs. Procter and Jane went in, and he 
went around to the side entrance where 
the -minister’s study was. 

7’he people of Markham who were pres- 
ent at the Baptist Church that morning, 
will never forget the service. It made an 
impression on them that they felt for 
years. 

The church was filled to overflowing. 
John Procter’s congregation turned out 
almost to a member, and the Baptist 
people - were present more largely than 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


63 



“ ‘WERE YOU EVER MORE SURPRISED IN YOUR 
LIFE?' ASKED MRS. PROCTER.” 


64 THK MIRACIyK AT MARKHAM 


usual. Nearly every person in the audi- 
ence was known to John Procter, person- 
all3% and all of them sympathized with him 
:n his loss. During his fifteen years’ res- 
idence in Markham, he had won the re- 
spect and confidence of his townsmen, 
and they all liked him as a preacher. 

. The first disitinct surprise to the con- 
gregation came when the Baptist minister 
gave out the notices. 

He read all the notices relating to hds 
own church, including the preaching of 
John Procter at the PresOy terian Church 
in the evening, and then after a little 
pause he said: 

“I have, also, to announce especially for 
the benefit of our friends from the Con- 
gregational Church, who are with us to- 
daj, that their pastor, by invitation from 
Dean llandall, will preach in Grace Cathe- 
dral next Sunday morning.” 

A distinct shock went over the people. 
They turned and looked questioningly at 
one another. Very many whispeted to 
their neighbors — “What was that? Did 
you understand he said the Episcopal 
Church?” Never in all the church his- 
tory of Markham, 'had such a surprising 
notice been given out from a pulpit. 

The second marked feature of the service 
was John Procter’s sermon. 

When he rose and laid his manuscript on 
the open Bible, he was seen to hesitate a 


THK MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


65 


miOTnenit, and tlien slowly ehuit tlie Bible 
up, and shut his written sermon within it. 

He stood a moment looking over the 
pulpit to the peiople, and then began 
flowly to 'talk about the event of the fire 
which had destroyed his church. He 
could not let the occasion go by, he said, 
■without thanking his townsmen for the 
kindly prompt assistance they had given 
him and his family during the danger 
which had threatened his home. He felt 
as if he owed a special word of thanksgiv- 
ing to his neighbor, the pastor of the 
church where he and his people were 
gratefufl guests this morning, for the care- 
ful zeal he had shown in looking after the 
books and pictures in his study at the 
parsonage. 

All this the people listened to ■with 
pleased interest, and it seemed entirely 
in keeping with the character of the o'cca- 
sion, but they were evidently waiting and 
expecting the minister to open the Bible 
and begin his sermon. Instead of doing 
so, John Procter went on with a natural 
continuation of his personal remarks 
about the helpfulness shown on the night 
of the fire, to speak in general about the 
power which an entire Christian commun- 
ity might have if it ■would unite as one to 
save the whole town from the common 
danger of sin as it had united to save one 
family in the case of the burning church, 


^6 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


because their danger was the town’s dan- 
ger. as well. 

“There is the fire of the saloon, for ex- 
ample,” John Procter went on, and he had 
never preached better, so his own people 
and the Baptist people, as well, thought, 
“A fire which threatens every home. 
What a fight we could make against it if 
all the Christians in Markham were 
united. There is the fire of Sabbath dese- 
cration growing more coarse and open 
every year, if the Christian people in all 
the churches really came together as one, 
could they not put that fire out? There 
is the fire of the neglected factory dis- 
trict, where vice and crime are growing. 
Is not that a common danger point that 
we ought to be facing together? There is 
the fire of corrupt selfish political control 
of our -own town. If all the church mem- 
bers in Markham always voted together 
for the best man regardless of national 
party divisions, could we not elect the men 
of our choice and put out forever this fire 
of personal selfishness which bums within 
the state and endiangers all the best life 
of our municipality? There is the fire of 
wasteful, selfish amusements which even 
in our comparatively small community 
drains the time and strength not only of 
the unchristian but -of the professing 
Christian population as well. If we were 
working together with a common purpose 


THB MIRACI^e AT MARKHAM 


67 


a« disciples of one Master, do you not 
think we could reduce this wastefulness to 
a minimum, and redeem the time which 
does not belong to us, but to the Lord who 
gave up all for our salvation?” 

So John Procter continued that morn- 
mg preaching far better than he knew. 
The application of the fire to the condi- 
tion in Markham was so clear, so plain and 
.lust, that the congregation felt and ac- 
knowledged the strength of the appeal. 
Heads nodded in assent all over the house. 
Surely if they would all turn out in a 
body, as they had done, to save one 
another’s property from physical fire, it 
was beyond a doubt a more necessary 
thing that they unite tO' put out these 
other fires that endangered the souls of 
the people. That they were not doing it 
was evident from the facts which John 
Procter pictured as he drew his sermon to 
a close. The saloon in Markham was pow- 
erful. The desecration of the Sabbath 
was growing worse. The factory district 
was a source of constant crime. The po- 
litical management of the town was con- 
trolled by the moat selfish and unprinciplec 
men. The young men and women of 
Markham were throwing away the most 
valuable hours of their leisure in dancing 
and whist playing and frivolity. Mean- 
while, Markham had twelve churches, 
twelve ministers, twelve church buildings, 


68 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

Endeavior Socieities, prayer meeting's, 
preaching, and all the forms of religious 
life. But it was not directed (towards a 
common end, nor anihuated by a common 
desire to bring in the reign of the king- 
dom of God in Markham. 

It was at the very close that John Proc- 
ter showed the wisdom of his appeal. It 
would have been an easy thing for a man 
of narrow zeal in speaking along the line 
of Christian Union to offend unconscious- 
ly the disciples of other denominations. 

John Procter avoided this. It was noth- 
ing short of the divine power of the Holy 
Ghost that saved his sermon from doing 
more harm than good. He finished his 
sermon with such a loving and Christian 
spirit, that all were touched by it. He al- 
luded, in words of gratitude, again, to the 
brotherly spirit which had prompted the 
Baptist people to welcome his own that 
morning. He .spoke of the service which 
had been announced for the Episcopal 
Church the next Sabbath with a deep feel- 
ing of praise for such a union of Christian 
believers. And he concluded the sermon 
with a prayer of unusual power and beau- 
ty that the spirit of truth might lead them 
into all the truth, and make possible, 
speedily, the loving prayer of Jesus that 
His disciples might be one, even as He was 
one with the Father. 

It was, perhaps, the truest test of the 


THE MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 


69 


impression made by this sermon that when 
the service was over, the people began at 
once to talk about it, instead of discussing 
as they usually did, social and jiolitical 
happenings of the week. They continued 
talking about it on the way home, and dur- 
ing their dinners that afternoon. If there 
bad been given the congregation an oppor- 
tunity to speak in an after-meeting, there 
is no question that very many voices from 
both the churches would have eagerly said 
amen to all that Jdhn Procter had said. 

Charles Harris and John Procter walked 
slowly away from the church, together. 
They were the last to leave. 

“I want to thank you again for that ser- 
mon,” said Mr. Harris, when he reached 
the corner where he turned down another 
street to his home. The two men were 
alone. Their families had gone on home 
to prepare dinner. 

“I am very glad if I spoke right, if I said 
what all the people need.” 

“I believe you did,” said Harris, slowly. 
He paused and then looking at Procter, 
said with a tone that revealed more feeling 
than Procter had ever given him credit 
for: 

“Procter, I suppose you and I really, 
deep down, want to see God’s will done in 
Markham. But I suppose we have either 
purposely or ignorantly misunderstood 
eacli other in church miatters. Don’t you 


70 


'THE MIRACEE'AT MARKHAM 


think perhaps all of us mdniaters here in 
Markham have failed to know each other 
as we might know?” 

John Procter was startled. Again he re- 
called with almost a glow of condemna- 
tion, his own pen picture of the different 
minisiters of Markham as he thought he 
knew them. 

“I have no doubt of it. We criticise and 
condemn without knowing the facts, with- 
out really knowing one another. Buit if 
we only could get together — ” 

He spoke with an emotion he really felt 
an emo-tion which Was the result of the 
whole service in the church. 

“Perhaps we shall sometime — ” the Bap- 
tist minister spoke slowly as before. 
The two men paused a mcment, looking in- 
to each other’s faces with a new and kind- 
lier look than they had ever known. They 
parted with a friendly handshake, and each 
Walked home very thoughtfully. 

That was an eventful Sabbath in Mark- 
ham. John Procter, not even himself yet 
realizing the way he was being led of the 
Spirit, not reckoning that he had already 
passed far beyond even all his past exper- 
ience in his desire for a union of church 
life spoke 'agnin on the same theme in the 
Presbyterian Church in the evening. He 
was at first tempted to take his written 
sermon which he had expected to use in 
the morning. But the glow of the morn- 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


71 


ing service had, during the day, grown in- 
to a white heat which reflected the inward 
passion of the man. The theme of the 
Union of Christendom is large. It has 
many sides of approach. The ministers 
of all the churches might well take a whole 
year to preach a year’s sermons upon it. 
So John Procter had no difficulty in avoid- 
ing a repetition of the morning’s ser- 
mon. 

He showed how already the different de- 
nominations held in matters of essential 
life practically everything alike. There 
was no dispute in any of the denomina- 
tions over the great moral and spiritual 
lessons of Jesus. Conduct was a thing 
that amounted to the same thing in a 
Presbyterian or a Congregationalist or a 
Baptist or an EpiscopaPan. The Sermon 
on the Mount was noit sectarian. It was 
human. Christian character flowed out of 
a love for Christ and a desire to imitate 
Him. So the churches after all, did be- 
lieve alike when it came to the absolutely 
vital things of existence, which were 
summed up in fhe Great Law of Christ, 
Love to God and Love to Man. 

It was said By those who were present 
at the Presbyterian Church in Markham 
that night, that such a rermon had never 
been heard in the town before. lAgain as 
in the morning, the Holy Spirit seemed to 
baptize the service with His presence. 


72 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


Hug'h Oameron thanked John Procter 
with tears in his eyes. 

“We mnsit have you and your peotple "with 
us aguin, soon,” he said heartily, as they 
parted at the close of the service, and 
again the two ministers felt the thrill of 
an unaccustomed fellowship in the clasp 
of hands. 

That might, for the first time in the life 
of that town, it almost seemed as if the 
Christian disciples of Markham were to be 
stirred out of their long* years of formal 
sectarian habits. And yet John Procter 
in a moment of natural reaction, as he 
went over the events of the two services, 
could not crowd out of his mind the old 
question, “How can the churches ever 
reially unite? Can it be done without a 
miracle? The emotions are easy tO' stir. 
Is it any more that has been done today? 
When it comes to actual, vital union, what 
will the churches do? That is the ques- 
tion.” 

Nevertheless he went forward that week 
with a new sensation as he anticipated 
the service in the Episcopal Church. What 
should he preach about? iWould it be wise 
to continue this same subject of church 
union? He had never given the choice of 
a subject for preaching so much thought 
since he left the seminary twenty-five 
years before. 


CHAPTER VI. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE BISHOP. 



UT deeply as the tw^o 


i congregation® had 
been moved that Sab- 


bath by John Procter’s 
preaching', it was insigni- 
ficant compared with the 
feeling aroused in the en- 


tire town by the notice which rapidly 
spread of his invitation to preach in Grace 
Cathedral the following Lord’s day. The 
knowledge of this coming unheard of 
event, soon passed beyona the limits of 
Markham, and before the end of the week 
reached the ears of Bishop Park, who lived 
in the Episcopal residence of Rodney, only 
twenty-five miles from Markham. Dean 
Randiall’s church was in his d)ioc©se, and 
the two men were on more than usually 
intimate terms. In fact, among the othep 
recent letters to be found in Dean Ran- 
dall’s correspandence, was more than one 
from Bishop Park, assuring him of his, the 
Bishop’s, support in the coming selection 
of a new Bishop for the office soon to be 
vacant. 

The Dean was in his study Friday morn- 
ing, when the servant announced a caller, 
and the Dean, going' out into the hall, was 
greeted bj' Bishop Park. 


74 


the; miracI/E at markham 


There was a moment of confusion on the 
Dean’s face. But he quickly recovered 
himself, and when his visitor was seated 
before him, in the study, he looked into his 
face very quietly and waited for him to be- 
g-in the conversiation. 

The Bishop was more embarassed than 
the Dean. He was a large man with a ten- 
dency to corpulence. His face was the 
face of an unusually good-natured, easy- 
going temperament. He was exceedingly 
popular with the clergy oif his diocese. His 
mtimiaoy with Dean Eandall dated from 
college days. 

“I suppose yoiu knoiw why I have come 
aver this morning?” He asked the ques- 
tion very mildly, and with a smile which 
was as friendly as usual. 

“You have heard of my new departure. 
I was just writing to you about it.” The 
Dean pointed to his desk and a letter lying 
there. 

“I do not need to tell you it is a most 
astonishing piece of news, Randall. In 
fact, it is so remarkable that I have come 
to verify it from your own lips. It is the 
Jast thing I ever expected from you.” 

“It is the last thing I ever expected of 
myself.” The Dean replied with a voice 
and manner that the Bishop did not un- 
derstand. 

“Of course,” continued the Bishop with 
just a faint trace of irritation in his tone. 


*rHE miracee at markham 


75 


'‘of course, you know that in giving this in- 
vita tion to a (minis.ter of another denomi- 
nation, you are violating one of the canons 
of the church. I dO' not need to remind sto 
old a churchman as you are, of Canon 17, 
Title 1, of our Church Laws.” The Bishop 
said it with the nearest approach to sar- 
casm he was ever known to use. 

“Of counse, that goes without saying.” 
the Dean answered quietly. 

“And, of course,” continued the Bishop, 
looking at the Dean curiously, almost as if 
he expected to detect signs of mental fail- 
are in him, “you are familiar with the 
words of the ‘Preface to the Form and 
Manner of Making, Ordaining and Conse- 
crating Bishops, Priests and Deacons, Ac- 
cording to the Order of the Ptotestant 
and Episcopal Church in the United States 
of America as established in the year 
1792?” 

The Dean nodded gravely; and the 
Bishop, picldng up a prayer book which 
lay on a table near by, read somewhat 
mechanically from the appendix at the 
end of the Psalter. 

“ ‘And, therefore, to the intent that 
these orders (Bishops, Priests and Dela- 
cons) may be icontinued, and reverentlly 
used and esteemed in this church, no man 
shall be accounted or taken to be a law- 
ful Bishop, Priest, or Deacon, in this 
church, or suifered tot execute any of the 


76 THE MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 

said fun'ctions, except he be called, tried, 
examined anid admitted tiierato, according 
to the form hereafter following, or hath 
had Episcopal Consecra.tion or Ordina- 
tion.’ ” 

The Bishop laid the prayer book down, 
and looked over 'at the Dean, and there 
was a puzzled look on his good-natured 
face as he did so. 

“Of course I know all that as well as I 
know the prayers themselves,” said the 
Dean. 

“Then it is impossible, my dear friend, 
that you can invite to preach in the pulpit 
of Grace Cathedral, this Congregational 
minister. In suffering him to execute one 
of the functions of our church, namely, 
the preaching of the Word, you violate 
one of the distinct and absolute laws of 
our church. You throw the established 
order of the church into confusion, and in 
doing so, you overthrow your own priestly 
order. It will lead to grave results which 
I feel in duty bound to warn you of. In 
short,” the Bishop had spoken with unusual 
earnestness, “in short, my friend, your 
action in 'this matter is entirely lawless. 
It is the 'act of one who repudiates his 
own church and its rules. I am absolute- 
ly astonished when I consider you, of all 
men, disregarding this distinct and es- 
Tabl'ished canon of church authority.” 

The Dean’s face was very white as the 


The miracee at markham 


77 


Jiishop spoke. When lie replietd, it was 
v\ith a voice which was under evident deep 
control. 

“I realize the truth of all you have said. 
I have gone over all the ground you have 
traveled. But — ” and the Dean looked 
straight at the Bishop, “as man to man, as 
Christian to Christian, Bishop Park, may 
there not come a time in a man’s life when 
the canons, the cusitoms, the laws of his 
church, even, shall be of less authority to 
him than a higher canon or law which God 
bids him follow? Are the laws of my 
church more binding on me than the laws 
of my conscience or my sense of what is 
deeply and vitally Christlike?” 

The Bishop did not reply immediately. 
Over his usually easy look had crept a 
more deeply moved expression which 
rhose who did not know him well, never 
had seen there. 

“I don’t deny, Bandall, that in many 
ways several of the old customs, even some 
of the canons of the Episcopal Church, 
have become obsolete. They are no longer 
anything but traditions, even though they 
have not yet been revoked. But this can- 
on in regard to the exercise of the church 
functions by other ministers is a vital 
church law. To disregard it is to cause a 
serious break in the established order of 
our church life.” 

“But can you tell me. Bishop, what po'S- 


78 THE miracee at riarkham 


sibie harm can come to any one, if a g'ood 
Christian man, of great usefulness as a 
minister, a man of long experience in the 
church, preaches the gospel standing in 
the pulpit of Grace Cathedral? He is as 
much a Christian disciple as you or I. He 
believes in the same teaching and practices 
:t in his daily life. He is going to the 
same heaven. He has the same gospel 
that you and I have. What possible harm 
can come from his preaching a sermon to 
my people in my church?” 

“That is not the question at all,” re- 
plied the Bishop, and again he showed 
signs of a little temper, “the question is 
purely one of our church canon. It is 
simidy a question of whether you, an Epis- 
copal clergyman, deliberately choose to 
make a law for yourself in defiance of the 
one which the church has laid down for 
you to follow. I do not question the 
Christian character of Mr. Procter. From 
all 1 know of him he is a most worthy 
man. But if you invite him to preach in 
Grace Cathedral, you deliberately tres- 
pass on one of the established orders of the 
Episcopal Church. You cease to be a 
representative of that church. And you 
make yourself an example of lawless con- 
duct in the church which will create con- 
fusion and trouble.” 

The Bean was silent. The great crisis 
of his life was on him. He knew it well. 


THB MIRACI,^ AT MARKHAM 


79 


“Be guided by me in this matter,” the 
Bishop went on, misinterpreting the 
Dean’s look. “You can ask to be excused 
from this hasty invitation. It may be true 
that people will not understand your 
change of mind, but the outside world does 
not understand the action of the Episco- 
pal Church in this matter, anyway.” 

“I cannot go back now,” replied the 
Dean in a low voice. “I have given the in- 
vitation to Broither Procter, and he has ac- 
cepted it in good faith. What my future 
action may be, I do noft know. I have 
thought I might go out of the church and 
even work elsewhere. I know well enough 
that what I have done makes me subject to 
a trial if I remain and still claim my stand- 
ing with the clergy. It is possible I shall 
think it best to stay where I am and face 
such a trial for the purpose of testing the 
stability of the canon. I have, for several 
years, been growing to feel that even that 
law which forbids us to invite into our 
pulpits ministers of other denominations 
would in time cease to be regarded as 
vital. Great changes are coming into the 
life of the church everywhere. We are on 
the edge of many revolutions as regards 
established orders and dogmas and tradi- 
tions. Christ’s law is beginning to be felt 
as of more authority than church law. 
And when I compare His desire that His 
disciples might be one with the customs 


8o 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


which have kept His disciples apart, I am 
conscience free in this matter of having* 
invited his brother minister to speak in 
Christ’s name in a Christian church. I feel 
that it is right.” 

'I’he Bishop was silent a long time after 
the Dean had finished. Then he said, 
speaking with a deliberation which the 
Dean could not help but noitice. 

“Of course, Eandall, all this, you know 
well enough, makes any possible opportun- 
ity for you to receive the choioe for the 
Bishop’s office out of the question. No 
man can expect to fill that place who de- 
liberately disobeys a definite canon of the 
church.” 

“Of course, I have thought that all out,” 
replied the Dean. For an instant his eyes 
rested on the picture of “Christ in Geth- 
semane.” The Bishop did not know enough 
about that struggle of the Dean’s to real- 
ize what his answer meant. Still, he 
knew that the Dean’s ambition had been 
very strong in the direction of the 
Bishopric. 

Again that puzzled look came into the 
Bishop’s eyes. In all his experience he 
had never had a similar case. The Dean’s 
prominence in the church, his scholarly 
reputation, his long-standing as a church- 
mau, were sure to make his departure from 
the established rule, marked. It was a 
case that cculd not be overlooked. What 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 8l 

tile final result would be, not even the 
Bishop was prepared to say. 

At last he rose, still with the perplexed 
look thait had grown deeper from the be- 
ginning of his interview with the Dean. 

“Ho'nestly, Randall, I fail to understand 
your action. It contradicts your whole 
life. Once more you must let me warn you 
that all this will cause trouble and barm 
the cause of the church. As you, yourself 
have said, it will make you liable to trial 
for breach of tlie church discipline. A» 
one of your best friends, I shall antici- 
pate such a trial with great pain.” 

The Dean did not answer this. Some- 
how he felt that good as the Bishop was, 
he had not understood, at all, the deepest 
motive which had prompted that invitation 
sent to John Procter. 

So the Bishop went back to his Episco- 
pal residence very much disturbed in 
spirit. He was astonished, distressed, and 
as far as his nature would allow, he was 
angry. Meanwhile, the people of Mark- 
ham no less puzzled at the Dean’s actioin, 
awaited in deep interest, the service which 
had been announced for Grace Cathedral 
Sunday morning. 

The evening of the same day which 
marked the visit of the Bishop to the 
Dean, which we have just recorded, was 
the occasion of an important meeting of 
the trustees of the Congregational Church. 


82 


the; miraci^e at markham 


It was the regular monthly business 
meeting, but of more (than usual interest, 
on account of the burning of the church 
building, and the subject o^ rebuilding 
which, as a matter of course, was the prin- 
cipal subject to be discussed. 

The occasion was so important that in 
anticipatioin of a Congregational meeting 
the following week, the board of trustees 
had invited to confer with them the pas- 
tor, deacons and all other church officers. 

They met at the parsonage, and had 
been discussing, for several minutes, in a 
general way, the proposition to rebuild the 
church. 

^Tt’s a very hard time, just now, to rSlse 
money,” said Deacon Bruce, with a sigh. 
“Crops have failed and business is very 
dull.” 

“That’s so,” added Mr. Kose, the chair- 
man of the board. “Of course, our insur- 
ance«will help us on the start, but it is not 
enough to put up such a builc^ing as we 
ought to have.” 

“If we build again, we ought to build of 
stone, instead of wood, it seems to me,” 
remarked another member of the board. 

“The Sunday School rooms ought to be 
made more modern,” said the superintend- 
ent. “That would mean, at least, a thou- 
sand dollars extra.” 

“We need at least seven thousand dollars 
to rebuild properly,” added the church 


THE MlRA-GIyE AT MARKHAM 83 

treasurer who had been busily figuring up 
the items of cost. 

- John Procter had said very little so far. 
He had replied to questions, but had not ' 
ventured to make any remarks about the 
cost of a new building, or its size, or archi- 
tecture. 

“I would like to ask our pastor what he 
thinks about the kind of a building we 
ought to put up,” finally interrupted the 
chairman. “He is more deeply interested, 
perhaps, than we are in the new church 
building.” 

All the faces turned towards John Proc- 
ter. For fifteen years the church officers 
had consulted him repeatedly in matters 
that belonged to the business alfairs of 
the parish, and his judgment and good 
sense had always been highly prized. 

He looked around the little group of 
church people, and his look was very grave 
and thoughtful. 

“The fact is, dear friends, that I have 
reached a conclusion in regard to a new 
church building that will, perhaps, aston- 
ish you. I have come to believe that it 
•would be best for us not to rebuild at all, 
because there are too many church build- 
ings in Markham already.” 

The entire group of church officers was 
smitten into astonished silence. They 
looked at John Procter with strangely ex- 
cited faces. At last the chairman of the 


84 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


board manag'ed to stammer, “Why, what, 
how do you mean, Mr. Procter? What 
can we do as a church if we have no build- 
ing?” 

“We . can worship and work with some 
other church in Markham,” replied John 
Procter calml3^ 

An astonished silence fell over the room. 
In the hush of that silence if they bad but 
known it. there was the first sign of a won- 
derful revolution in the established order 
of things that had so far governed the 
church life of Markham. 



CHAPTER Vll. 

WILLIAM HEARS A SERMON. 


♦ 




HEN William Procter 
walked into tke 
Episcopal Church of 
Pyramid the Sunday 
following his meeit- 
ing with Francis Ban- 
dall, he was prepared 
to criticise, in de/tail, 
everything he saw and 
heard. The spirit 
of unrest and dissatisfaction in him which 
had compelled him to leave the Seminary 
and give up the ministry had never been 
so strong in him as when he entered the 
pew which the usher showed him, and 
sat down to wait the few minutes before 
the service began. 

He had attended the Episcopal service 
often while a student at Andover. Several 
times he had been in Boston and heal’d 
Phillips Brooks, uplifted and borne on by 
his great hearted eloquence vvhich removed 
all criticism of the special forms of the 
church service itself. 

But today, William was in a mood which 
marks and magnifies trifies. He found 
himself sneering just a little at the robe 
which Eandall wore when he appeared in 
the chancel. 


86 


MIRACIvlC AT MARKHAM 


He wa« tempted to criticise the singing 
of the choir which was composed of young 
men and women some of whom were un- 
familiar with the music of the service. He 
thought the frequent change from the 
sitting to a standing position savored of 
hypocrisy and dead formality. 

But gradually the spirit of the man in 
the pulpit began to affect William Procter 
differently. There wns no cant or formal- 
ity in the way Eandall read the prayers 
and the collect. William Procter while in 
the Seminary, had committed most of the 
prayers in the Episcopal prayer book to 
memory, and honestly thought them very 
beautiful. He was compelled to acknowl- 
edge that Randall read them uncommonly 
well. In fact, he did not read them so 
much as say them. As he followed the 
words silently, calling them up in mem- 
ory, vVilliam Procter found himself asking 
if he himself could have put as much real 
feeling and meaning into the same sen- 
tences if he had to repeat them every Sun- 
day morning the year around. 

So it came about that when the sermon 
was reached, William Procter had almost 
unconsciously passed into a spirit of 
ready acceptance of the truth, and his 
critical dissatisfied mind M'^as for the time 
being disposed to receive what the preach- 
er had to give, if he had anything to give 
that was worth while. 


THEi MIRACIVE) AT MARKHAM 


87 


But Randall had not been preaching very 
long before William Procter found himself 
thoroughly aroused, and that too in a way 
he had not known since he first eirtered 
the Seminary. 

The sermon wias vitally practical. It 
was simply a call to the Christian men 
and women of Pyramid to do something in 
the matter of removing the gambling sa- 
loons that filled Pyramid with crime and 
disorder. There was nothing old-fashioned 
or formal or clerical in the 'ay Randall 
called attention to the need of a better 
town. He had made himself master of 
the facts, and among then w^as a list of the 
older boys and young men who were fre- 
quenters of the gambling dens. He did 
not read the names, but he gave the num- 
ber and plainly said that among them were 
boys from some of the families sitting in 
the church that morni^ig. When he said 
it, a wave of intense feeling swept 
throi:'gh the little church, and more than 
one father and mother bowed the head. 

There were two sentences in the sermon 
near the close, that smote on William 
Procter’s mind like a blow. 

“Any man living in Pyramid today who 
has anything of Christianity in him, is a 
coward, and is faithless to his Lord and 
Master, Jesus, if he does not do all in his 
power to help remove this gambling curse. 
No man has any right to say it is none of 


88 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


bis bnginess or shirk his own responsibil- 
ity in this matter.” 

They were simple sentences, but they 
rankled in William Procter’s mind and 
would not give him any rest. 

He slipped out of the church service be- 
fore any one could detain him, and went 
to his little room in the boarding house 
near the mill. The sermon was not at all 
what he had expected. He had imagined 
he might hear some kind of a churchly 
discourse on one of the Jewish sinners of 
the Old Testament with two or three 
moral lessons to be drawn from their evil 
behavior. But this uncompromising call 
to Christian duty was unexpected. He had 
enough of the old Pilgrim blood in him to 
be unable to remain. quiet and satisfied, 
when such a call sounded in his ears. The 
sense of duty was too keen and deep in 
him to be easily turned aside or bid to keep 
silent. 

What had he done? It is true he had 
conscientiously left the ministry because 
he could not honestly preach in a pulpit. 
But had he also abandoned all his Christian 
faith, and cut loose from all responsibility 
for the salvation of the world? ’^Tiat 
business was it of his that gambling dens 
in Pyramid cursed the young men of the 
place? Could he leave his work in the mill 
to fight such an evil? It was a part of all 
mining camps. It was an evil that could 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM ' 89 

not be attacked without great personal 
danger. What did Eandall want to get en- 
tangled in any such thankless reform bus- 
iness for? Why couldn’t he go on and 
preach in a general way against sin, and let 
this particular sin alone? 

He had no't been so stirred up over any- 
thing since he had written that letter to 
his father in the Seminary. 

When he entered the mill the next 
morning, he was unable to shake olf the 
burden of responsibility which Kandall’s 
sermon had laid upon him. In a spirit of 
mingled anger and self-reproach, he went 
about his duties in the mill. And the roar 
and rattle and heat of the grim mixer, as 
it entered the white ho't furnace where the 
ore was burning, and emerged again to 
travel its circular track, was not able to 
drown the voice of that old religious con- 
viction of personal responsibility for the 
sin of others which now burned white hot 
in the soul of the assistant superintendent 
of the Golconda mill. 

But there was more in that call of 
Randall’s to Christian duty, than even 
William Procter felt or knew. The ser- 
mon that day was a part of the whole ex- 
perience through which the young Episco- 
pal clergyman was moving. Events had 
come on rapidly since he had invited Mr. 
Clark, the Congregational minister, into 
his pulpit, and the campaign he was no-w 


90 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


entering for a cleaner mnnicipal life, was 
only a part of the new church life he was 
beginning to know. 

Two short letters written by him at this 
time reveal the inward passion of the man. 
The first was to his father: 

Dear Father — I have already told you of Mr. 
Clark’s preaching in the church here. I have 
not told you of the result. One of my wardens, 
one of the oldest men in the church, has had 
several talks with me about that occurrence. 
Of course, I violated the church canon, as you 
have written me. I did so, knowing what It 
might mean. My people here, for the most 
part, have not objected, seriously. My bishop 
has written me inquiring into it, and I have re- 
plied, giving him the whole truth about It. 
Now, my warden, Mr. Cole, says that he can- 
not overlook such a departure from the church 
rules, and feels obliged to make complaint to 
the bishop, who, in his reply to my letter, 
simply warned me to be more careful and not 
to offend again. But the nature of the mining 
camp and the unconventional manner in which 
a great deal of church work must be done, ac- 
counts, in large part, for the bishop’s leniency. 
I do not have any fears of the final result. If a 
trial should come, my only defense would be, 
of course, a higher law than the church canon. 
I cannot persuade myself that I have done any- 
thing unchristian. I may have acted contrary 
to the established canon of the Episcopal 
Church, but I feel sure I am not acting con- 
trary to the real spirit and desire of my only 
Master, Christ. 

I am at present in the midst of a campaign 
against the gambling dens of Pyramid. If the 
Christian people here all act together, we can 
win. The main trouble is that some of the 


the: MIRACI^K at MARKHAM 


91 


prominent business men, the mine owners and 
mill owners, especially Sewell, the owner of 
the Golconda, are opposed to the move to out- 
law the gamblers because of business complica- 
tions, Sewell, himself, told me bluntly the 
other day, that he considered the gambling 
dens a part of any mining camp, and violently 
expressed himself as opposed to touching them 
or helping the movement for their destruction. 
This sounds almost incredible, but you, your- 
self, are familiar with business-men’s argu- 
ments that saloons and houses of vice are 
necessary to the business interests of a town, 

I have met William Procter, who is assistant 
superintendent- in Sewell’s mill. He was at 
church last Sunday, I wish I knew something 
of his experience which led to his leaving the 
seminary. He seems shy, and I shall not at- 
tempt to presume on his acquaintance unless he 
Invites it. 

Love to mother and yourself, and all the 
Markham friends. Your son, 

Francis. 

This letter was written a week before 
news reached Pyramid of Dean Eandall’s 
invitation to John Procter. Hence, there 
was no allusion to it in the son’s letter to 
the Dean. . 

The other letter sent from Pyramid that 
week, was addressed to Miss Jane Procter, 

After the words, “Miss Jane Procter,” 
came the words written underneaith: 

Dear Jane— In your reply to my last letter, 
you did not refuse to allow me to write again. 
Of course, you know well enough I can never 
write you but one kind of a letter. It would be 
simply clear hypocrisy for me to sit down and 
write you descriptions of the mining camp of 


92 


THE MIRACEE AT IVIARKHAM 


Pyramid, of the snow mountains in the range 
beyond, or the milling machinery. How could I 
write anything of that sort when there is only 
one great desire in my heai’t, and that is for 
you, yourself. You must let me say again, 
Jane, that if you do love me, as I sometimes 
really believe you do, you are wrong to live 
your life apart from me, but it is no excuse for 
you to give that you cannot marry a minister. 
You could help me as no other woman in all 
the world could do. Your familiarity with 
church life, gained in the atmosphere of it at 
your own home, has fitted you for all that I 
have to do, for the two churches are not at all 
unlike, when it comes to the real work which 
needs to be done. 

You cannot know, Jane, the hunger of my 
heart for you, even if you do, perhaps, think I 
am so stupid that I cannot take “No” for an 
answer. But your answers, so far, have not 
made any difference with my feelings. If I 
were a young woman, Jane, I would not think 
much of a young man who was my lover, who 
was afraid to tell her several times that he 
loved her, even if she did say once or twice that 
she would not marry him. And you ought to 
know by this time, Jane, that I love you dearly. 
There is one great hope I have with me al- 
ways, and that is you have never told me out- 
right that you do not love me. As long as you 
don’t tell me that, I shall still go on telling you 
what I have written here. Your lover, 

Francis Randall. 

When Jane had read this letter throug-h, 
she buried her face on it for just a mo- 
ment, and when she lifted at ag’ain, her 
cheeks were very red and there was a tear 
on one of them. She took up the letter 
and re-read it, then there was a tear 


THE5 MlRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


93 


on the other cheek, and finally a smile. 

“He certainly has the g“ift of persist- 
ence,” she said. But she said it almoist as 
if she were very glad of it. Then she sat 
quietly going over all the past. The strug- 
gle between her lover and her life-long 
distaste for the minister’s life, was be- 
coming an old struggle now, but it was by 
no means settled. 

“I cannot marry a minister, I cannot, 1 
cannot,” she repeated to herself. And yet 
in the repetition of the old phrase she be- 
gan to feel that she was stifling the 
noblest feeling in her, and perhaps refus- 
ing the best gift any true man ever has to 
offer a true woman. If the ministry in 
her thought of it, had presented very lit- 
tle that was grand or glorious for a young 
man and his wife, was Francis Eandairs 
ministry lacking in heroic elements that 
could attract almost any woman? She 
had already learned to prize his love. What 
if in time she should lose it? Besides — 
But even when she had put this lasx letter 
away with the others, she murmured “No. 
I cannot.” If Francis Kandall had heard 
her then, he might almost have lost the 
hope he maintained. But he might have 
regained it again if he had seen Jane a 
moment later before she started off to 
school, bury her face in her hands and 
cry a little, no one being near to note it. 

The Sunday morning in Markham that 


94 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


followed the events of that week, which 
had brought these experiences to Williain 
Procter and Jane had been eagerly antici- 
pated by the people of nearly all the 
churches. It was the morning that John 
Procter was to preach in Dean Eandall’s 
pulpit, and it must be said that many of 
the members of the other churches desert- 
ed their own services to go to the Episco- 
pal Church. 

A great many exciting rumors had agi- 
tated the town of Markham during the 
week. It was said that the Bishop had 
been to see Dean Eandall about the matter 
of his invitation to John Procter, and that 
high words had passed between them. It 
was even whispered, by some, that the two 
men had almost come to blows. The 
members of Grace Cathedral parish were 
greatly excited over the event, but the 
prominence of the Dean, his long good 
standing in the community and a certain 
unquestioned curiosity to see how matters 
would come out, had prevented any out- 
spoken opposition. It was true, however, 
so it was rumored, that the Dean’s unheard 
of action would not pass unchallenged by 
the vestry. 

In addition to all this, there was an im- 
mense curiosity aroused by rumors of the 
meeting held Friday night by the officers 
of John Procter’s church. It was said by 
some that he had advised his board of 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


95 


trustees to disband thei Congreg'ational 
Church altogether, and unite with the Bap- 
tists. Others said the meeting Friday 
night had ended in a sharp quarrel be- 
tween the pastor and his church officers, 
and that he had immediately tendered his 
resignation. It was definitely known be- 
yond any question, that a meeting of the 
entire congregation had been called for 
the following Monday night, and that at 
that time some very interesting and un- 
usual affairs would be discussed. The 
meeting, through the courtesy of the 
Presbyterians, ^vas to be held in their 
church. 

It was, therefore, with an unparalleled 
interest that the service began that morn- 
ing in Grace Cathedral. The building was 
not large, and it was as crowded as if a 
fashionable wedding were taking place in 
it. People stood up during the entire ser- 
vice, the little vestibule was packed with 
people looking over one another’s shoul- 
ders and standing on tip-toe trying to 
look over, while many from the other 
churches, who came a little late, were un- 
able to find even standing room. Instead 
of going to their own churches, most of 
these people stood about the little yard in 
front of Grace Cathedral, discussing the 
events of the week.' 

It had been arranged between the Dean 
and John Procter that the Dean should 


96 THK MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 

conduct all of the service except the ser- 
mon. When the Dean came to the desk, as 
usual, and began the service with the words, 
“The Lord is in His holy temple” — John 
Procter, seated just behind the Dean, un- 
able to see his face, yet caught the truth 
of its expression from the people in front 
of him. Besides, had hot he and the Dean 
just been kneeling together in the little 
room at the side of the chancel? The event 
small as it may seem when considered by 
itself, was yet full of serious meaning to 
both men. To say that it marked an ep- 
och in the lives of each w^ould be saying too 
little. It marked an epoch no less in the 
lives of their churches, and no man present 
at that service could imagine what the end 
might be. 

The service proceeded in the usual man- 
ner so far as the prayers, responses and 
choir chants were concerned. But it ap- 
proached the part of the sermon with a 
very unusual feeling on the part of the 
congregation. It is safe to say that when 
John Procter at last rose to preach, he had 
for attentive hearers every one in the 
church, and all of them brought to that 
attentive hearing a sensitiveness of reli- 
gious feeling which too often is wanting 
In a listening congregation. 

John Procter’s subject which he an- 
nounced at once, was one that easily held 
people’s attention. It w'as, “What Would 


TniiJ MIRACI^ii AT MARKHAM 


97 



98 THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


Jesus Do if He Were a MembeT of a Church 
Today?” 

The answer to this question revealed to 
every one present some very simple but 
vital truths. It was John Pro-cter’s aim 
to present a simple but true phase of 
church membership, what it really meant. 
He did not go Outside of Markham. The 
application was direct, and largely left to 
the people to make for themselves. 

As he went on, the impression of the 
simple truth deepened. Even the people 
standing up in the vestibule farthest from 
the speaker, felt the seriousness and truth 
of the message. It is certain that nearly 
every one present felt that his understand- 
ing of church membership had been en- 
larged, and to many there, it was impos- 
sible to go on with the old narrow defini- 
tion in the future. 

People remained bowed even longer than 
usual, at the close of that service. It 
seemed to the two ministers as they went 
into the little room by the chancel where 
the Dean took oil his robe, that a baptism 
like that of the Holy Ghost at Pentecost, 
had fallen on the people. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

JOHN PROCTER’S PROPOSITION. 



yHAT was a beautiful messiage 
you brought to us,” said the 
Dean as he faced John Proc- 
ter in the little room. 

John Procter looked at the 
Dean thoughtfully. 

“I was very anxious to give the people 
something helpful.” 

“You did. 'It helped me.” The Dean 
spoke simply, but in a tone that moved 
John Procter deeply. 

“I do no't need to say that this morn- 
ing’s experience has been, in many ways, 
the most remarkable I have ever known in 
my ministry. Dean Pandall. I am sure 
you know very well how deeply I feel the 
fellowship you have extended to me. Al- 
though — ” John Procter continued, with a 
little hesitation, “I do not know all it may 
co§t you.” 

“I have counted it,” said the Dean, 
gravely. Then he added — “You are pass- 
ing through a new experience in your own 
church. You are really not going to build 
again?” 

The Dean asked the question with a de- 
gree of excusable curiosity. 

“I shall advise my people not to build, 
but unite with one of the other ehurches,” 


lOO 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


replied John Procter, frankly. “When the 
time comes, I want your advice aind coun- 
sel in the matter.” 

“You shall have it, gladly,” the Dean 
replied. They were about to pass out o£ 
the side door, when John Procter said, 
“Neighbor, shall we have a prayer together 
before we goT' 

It may seem altogether impc:;sible, but it 
was a fact that for several years Dean 
Randall had not prayed aloud any pray- 
ers except those printed in the Praj'er 
Book. Ilis case was, perhaps, exceptional. 
But the fact must be recorded as it really 
was. That morning, before the service, it 
is true that, moved by a common impulse, 
he had kneeled with John Procter for a 
moment, but the prayer had been silent. 

Now he knelt dowm again beside bis 
neighbor, and John Procter praj^ed very 
simply but tenderly for a blessing on all 
the churches in Markham that they might 
more truly fulfill Christ’s desire for them 
that they might be one. When he had 
said amen, there was a curious silence for 
a momenit before the Dean uttered a 
word. Then he found his petition natur- 
ally follo^^dng that of John Procter. .Is 
there anything except the most Christian 
act in the praying of two-of Christ’s disci- 
ples in the language that springs from the 
heart’s desire? And yet the Dean, to his 
own astonishment, found the act so full of 


the; miraci^k at markham iot 

ne^Tieiss and even nnuisnal babit, that he 
canid not for days break aw^ay from the 
thought of its unique place in his religious 
experience. For it is simply a fact that 
never, before that day had he joined with 
a minister of another denomination in a 
common prayer for a common blessing 
upon the work of Christ in the town where 
his work was being carried on. Is it anj’’ 
more than a thing to be expected that two 
Ghristian men, disciples of the same Lord, 
should meet often to pray for his kingdom 
on earth? Is it true that the remarkable 
aibsence of such united petition is one of 
the causes of the weakness of Jesus’ disci- 
ples in the earth two thousand years after 
His prayer that they might be one? 

When Monday night came, the members 
of the Oongregationail Church of Mark- 
ham, in response to the notice given out 
on Sunday, met in the Presbyterian 
Church to discuss the subject of re-build- 
ing. News of the remarkable proposi- 
tion made at the trustee meeting by the 
pastor, had reached nearly every mem- 
ber. The entire membership, with the 
exception of a few of the old and sick, was 
present. Not since the organization of 
the church in Markham had so much ex- 
citement been known at a church meeting. 
What the outcome of it would be, no one 
could tell. 

John Procter presided at the meeting, 


102 


THE MIRACEE AT :MARKHAM 


as his usual custom had been. The first 
thing to be called for, was the report of 
the trustee meeting Friday night. 

The chairman of the board, Mr Rose, 
gave, in brief, the result of that meeting. 

“We met,” he said, “to discuss the sub- 
ject of re-building. We talked over plans 
and expense. There was some difference 
of opinion on the part of the trustees and 
church officers as to the kind of building 
we ought to put up. Nearly all of us 
agreed that it is an unusually hard time 
just now, to raise money. But there was 
no thought in the mind or speech of any of 
us as to the necessity of building some 
kind of a church, until our pastor was 
asked to give his advice. What he said 
then was so unexpected, and we were so 
little prepared to entertain his view, that 
after a discussion which resulted in noth- 
ing more satisfactorj^ it was voted by the 
Board to lay the whole matter before the 
entire church and have it discussed by the 
entire membership. The pastor’s proposi- 
tion is now known to you. I would, of 
course, much prefer to have him explain to 
the church what he said to us Friday 
night.” 

The chairman after a moment of hesi- 
tation, sat down, and every one looked in- 
tently at John Procter. For fifteen years 
the members of the Congregational 
Church of Markham had trusted and re- 


THEi MIRACI,EJ AT MARKHAM 


103 


spected him, and while they were aston« 
ished beyond measure at what they had 
heard of the meeting Friday night, they 
were still ready to listen to their pastor in 
explanation of his strange plan. They, 
therefore, leaned forward and in a very 
grave silence waited for him to speak. 

He rose and looked at his people thought- 
fully before he said anything. The occasion 
marked a crisis for him and- them. 

“What I said to the Board Friday night 
was this: I do not think we ought to re- 
build our church. Instead of doing that, 
we can better work and worship with 
some other church in Markhani. 

“I do not expect such a proposition as 
that, of course, to be accepted by the 
church at once, or without very grave and 
serious consideration. It is due to you 
that I give my own reasons for advising 
such a movement on our part. 

“There are already twelve churches in 
iMarkham, and twelve ministers. The 
population of the town gives less than two 
hundred people to each church. Our own 
membership is one hundred and twenty. 
The Presbyterians here have a membership 
of about the same. None of the other 
churches in the town has over one hundred 
members. Nearly every church in town is 
burdened with a debt. None of them pays 
over one thousand dollars salary to its 
minister. 


104 


TfiK MI«.ACI,E AT MARKHAM 


“Bretliren, tbois6 are the plain facts 
about the churches in Markham, as I stat- 
ed them to the Board Friday night during 
our discussion. Now, will you let me try 
to sihow, in a concise way, what advan- 
tages will be found for us and for the 
to^vn, by uniting with some one of the 
other churches already organized in 
Markham. 

“I have put down here in writing, for the 
sake of exactness, a number of points 
which contain, in brief, my own convic- 
tions. 

“ 1. If we unite with some other churcli 
instead of re-building and going on with 
our own separate organization, we shall 
strengthen the church to which we go. 
Let us take, just for the examxde, the 
Presbyterian Church here. Suppose we 
should unite with them. They would feel 
the addition of a working force and a 
congregation. There would come <at once 
to preacher and people the inspiration of 
numbers. The financial support of the 
church work would also be materially in- 
creased. 

2. “There is nothing in the doctrinal 
creed of hardly any church in Markham 
that would forbid a real union of our 
church with them on a Christian basis. 
There is nothing in the Presbyterian 
Church here, for example, which is in any 
way essentially different from our own. 


THB MIRACIyE AT MARKHAM 


105 


3. “The moral effect of our volunltary 
union with another church would be very 
great on our own community and more 
than that on the Christian world. It is 
well known to most of you that the most 
serious obstacle to church life in Markham 
is the multiplication of church organiza- 
tions. The business men are constantly 
complaining that they are besought by 
every church in town to give it support. 
The complaint is well founded. It ought 
not to be possible for them to make it. It 
is almost a standing sneer in Markham 
that if a stranger or a new family moves 
into town and cannot find the particular 
denomination they prefer, they can easily 
start another. Our union with some other 
church will do much towards removing 
this sneer. The effect of it on the outside 
world will be very helpful. Most of you 
do not know, as I do, what a load the min- 
ister and the church, too, have to carry 
on account of this minute splitting up in- 
to fragments of the body of Christ. 

4. “Markham would really be better off 
in every way if its twelve churches were 
reduced to six oir even four. If we set the 
example, it is impossible to say what some 
of the other churches also may do in unit- 
ing their divided forces. 

5. “In spate of the number of churches 
now in Markham, the moral life of the 
town is not growing*, but decreasing. Our 


io6 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


union With anoither church will undoubted- 
ly give us greater power in the direction of 
a moral force to better things. The whole 
effect of such a union will, uo doubt, be to 
awaken a more Christian life in our own 
membership and that of the church to 
which we go. 

6. “If our church unites with some 
other, I firmly believe it will be to the 
great joy of Christ who is the head of the 
Church. For two thousand years He has 
been waiting for a final answer to His 
prayer that His disciples might be one. 
The sight of one church in Markham vol- 
untarily and gladly uniting with another 
for the purpose of strengthening the 
kingdom on earth will make joy in heaven. 
If Jesus were here today it is my deep con- 
viction that He would advise you to do 
just what I am urging now. 

7. “Our union with another church will, 
without doubt, be follow^ed by a great out- 
pouring of the Holy Spirit. Of this, I have 
not the slightest question. The movement 
will be so directly in keeping with the Di- 
vine will, that a new baptism of spiritual 
life will fall upon us all. It is long since 
we had such a baptism of life. We need it 
more than we need anything else. 

8. “If we unite with another church, we 
shall be directly in line with the spirit of 
federation of churches w'hich is moving 
over Chrfistendoim today. Never before in 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


107 


the history of the church was there such a 
true longing on the part of the Christian 
world to get together. The action of Dean 
Randall in opening his church to us yester- 
day, is only one of the indications of many 
that the old cunstoms and traditions of 
sectarianism are vanishing. Never be- 
fore did the great church conventions, 
councils and state and national gather- 
ings of all the denominations contain so 
much written and spoken for the union of 
Christ’s disciples. We are actually at the 
beginninig of a mighty and irresistible 
movement which nothing can prevent. 
Whether we act or not to join our Chris- 
tian life with that of another body, the 
world movement for church union is al- 
ready started by a Diviner and more vic- 
torious power than we can command or 
oppose. But it will be a glorious thing for 
us to be in the current of that tide at the 
start. It will be the best part of our his- 
tory as a church to write this chapter in- 
to our annals. Instead of being the death 
of our church, it will really be the begin- 
ning of the best life it has ever 
felt.” 

When John Procter finished reading 
from his paper, the silence remiained un- 
broken. The members of the Congrega- 
tional Church of Markham were not able 
to say anything for a long time. Nothing 
like this had ever happened before. No 


io8 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


such proposition had ever been put before 
them. They were bewildered by it. 
There were some of the older members, 
however, who had followed the pastor’s 
reading with sober and even angry oppo- 
sition. One of these was the first to 
break the silence. 

“Mr. Procter,” he said rising and speak- 
ing in 'a tone that betrayed great excite- 
ment and feeling — “You have not told ns in 
all this astonishing plan of yours, what you 
propose to do with the pastor of the 
church: or what you propose the church 
to do with him. If our church unites with 
another, one of them will have to give up 
its minister. If we w’^ere to unite with the 
Presbyterians, here, as you say, for ex- 
ample, do you suppose their minister would 
be willing to step out or his people be will- 
ing to have his place filled by another 
man? There are too many practical busi- 
ness difficulties in the way of such a union 
as you propose.” 

The member sat down, and again the 
church people all turned eagerly towards 
John Procter. 

“I have believed for a long time,” he 
said, after a moment, “that there were too 
many churches in Markham. But I do not 
believe there are too many ministers. 
Brother Walker, how manj’- men are there 
employed in the bank where you are 
now"?’ 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


109 


“Four,” re-plied Mr. Walker, the nrem- 
ber who had just spoken. , 

“Yes. There is a caslider, a teller, a 
book keei^er, and a janitor. Four men on 
salary to do the necessary business of the 
bank. There is not a grocery store in 
Markham that does not employ at least 
one clerk to take orders and drive a deliv- 
ery wagon. There is not a general mer- 
chandise store that does not have at least 
two or three paid helpers. Every depart- 
ment of business in Markham has paid help 
in proportion to the volume of its business. 
Now, as matters are at present, it is true 
that there are twtice as many church 
buildings and organizations as Markham 
needs. But it is not over-supplied with 
Christian men tot do the necessary Chris- 
tian work. What I mean is that if we 
could reduce the number of churches in 
Markham to six, we would still have use 
for twelve ministers. That would not be 
at all out of proportiotn to the need of 
religious work to be done. If we should 
unite with the Presbyterians, there will 
still be enough for both Broither Cameron 
and myself to do. No minister with a 
church membership of two hundred people 
in a community like ours ever can do alone 
all that ought to be done. I am of the 
opinion that in time the churches will all 
employ more men to do theiir work. No 
other business is ever done in the world as 


no 


THE MIRACI.^ AT MARKHAM 


the churches do theirs. If the work of a 
bank requires four men, it g-enerally has 
four men. But the pastor of a church is 
generally supposed to take care of all its 
business alone, no matter how fast it 
g'rows or its needs increase. Thousands 
of churches in the United States that be- 
gan with less than one hundred members, 
have grown to have three or four hundred 
members. But in very few cases have the 
churches increased their paid w’orkens with 
the increase in numbers and responsibility. 
They still continue to employ only one man 
and expect him to do the work in a church 
of three or four hundred just the same as 
he did when it was only one hundred. A 
bank or a grocery store that tried to keep 
abreast of its increasing business in that 
way, would soon fail. One reason why a 
good many churches are weak, is not be- 
cause the minister is incapable, but be- 
cause the church does not employ more 
help. So, in case we should unite with the 
Presbyterians, there will be found some 
way to keep both of us ministers at work. 
That is to say, there will be no trouble 
about having two ministers in the church 
if oinly the church realizes the value of the 
work to be done for this town.” 

Again, there was a long silence in the 
room. If the pastor had not gone into the 
details of the work that two ministers 
might do in the one church, he had, at 


THK MIRACI,EJ AT MARKHAM 


III 


least, made it seem within the reach of 
possibility that two men might with ad- 
vantage be em]3loyed. 

John Procter spoke again. 

“I know, of course, that what I have 
prox)osed is so strang-e to many of you that 
you are not prepared to lake any action on 
it at this meeting. But strange and un- 
usual and even impossible as it may seem 
to you at first, 1 still hope you will take 
time to consider it.” 

“We certainly cannot act on this at 
once,” said one of the deacons, an elderly 
man who had oeen a member of the Con- 
gregational Church of Markham for over 
forty years 

He was going on to express his opinion 
as to the wisdom of such a remarkable 
movement, and several others were evi- 
dently now ready to say something, when 
some one down near the door came for- 
word with a telegram for John Proc- 
ter. 

It was marked, “great haste.” “The 
boy is at the door and will take your an- 
swer,” said the man who had come up to 
the pulpit with the message. 

The deacon paused a moment until the 
interruption at the platform was over. 

John Procter opened the envelope and 
read the message. It was from Pyramid, 
and dated late that evening*. It read as fol- 
lows: 




II2 


the: miractk at markham 


Rev. John Procter, Markhani, O. : 

William has met with very serious accident 
in mill. Come on at once. Francis Randall. 

Jo'hn Procter read this over twice before 
he realized what it meant, as people gen- 
erally read serious telegrams. 

He rose, pale, but self-possessed, and told 
his people what the news was. 

“I shail have time to leave for the West 
on the midnight express,” he said. As he 
passed down through the aisle of the 
church to hurry home with the news, 
more than one hand was thrust out to ex- 
press sympathy. 

It had all happened iSO unexpectedly, 
that the congregation remained in a con- 
dition of uncertainty when the door closed 
on their, pastor. 

The deacon spoke. He had been one of 
the first to say Godspeed to John Procter 
as he started down the aisle. 

“We can’t settle this question of church 
building tonight. We need to think it 
over, carefully. I move that we spend the 
rest of the time in prayer for the pastor 
and his family.” 

The deacon’s motion was carried, and 
the church, stirred by a sympathy which 
was the outcome of genuine affection for 
their pastor, offered manj^ earnest pray- 
ers for him and all those who were dear to 
him. It is not at all impossible that the 
accident to William Procter, and the pray- 


THK ]},1IRACT,E AT MARKHA^NI 




ir 



/ 

“he arose, bale, but seep possessed." 



114 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


ers in his behalf, had a good deal to do 
with the final result of affairs in Markham, 
so far as the Congregational Church was 
co-ncemed. There are no accidents in the 
plans of God. 



CHAPTER IX. 

AT WORK IN THE MILE. 

INCE the sermon of Fran- 
cis Randall on the 

responsibility of the 

Christian men of Pyra- 
mid for the closing of 
the gambling saloons 
of the camp, William 
Procter had not at- 

tended service in any 
church. He had not yet settled the ques- 
tion of his own respo<nsibility in the mat- 
ter. He kept saying to himself that he 
had not come out to Pyramid to do the 

work of a missionary or a reformer. At 

the same time, he knew well enough that 
he was like hundreds of other men, who, 
when they move west, or east, find it easy 
to shirk religious duties because they 
think people do not know them, and the 
opportunity is a good one to take a holi- 
day from all Christian' work. Very often 
this holiday lasts the rest of a man’s life. 

William Procter was not satisfied with 
the situation, however. He went to his 
mill duties every morning discontented 
and restlesis, half ang'ry at Randall, and 
miserable generally because of his per- 
sonal experience which had driven him in- 
to a life of physical toil for Which he was. 



Il6 MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 

by nature and training, paorly educated. 
At present, not le^ast annong the troubles 
which assailed him, was his memory of 
those days in Andover wihen the woman 
he loved had broken with him because of 
her disappointmeii't at his refusal to con- 
tinue in a profession which his conscience 
would not allow him to enter. With bit- 
terness of spirit he fought against the feel- 
ing which he still had for her. He had 
tried to forget, but his efforts had been 
useless. Memory was stronger and more 
tenacious than oblivion. 

So he went about among the strange 
pieces of machinery in the Golconda mill, 
thinking over all these things, and a 
strange mixture of human passions and 
struggles in the midst of wierd and clash- 
ing monsters of iron and steel and poison- 
ous vats and tanks of chemicals. There 
was a twelve-inch board across the top of 
one of the large cyanide vats over which 
the men in the mill often walked to reach 
another part of the building. It saved a 
journey around by way of a pair of steps 
and a ladder, and the men were in the 
habit of crossing by means of this plank, 
although they knew well enough that a 
slip and a plunge into the poisonous fluid 
would mean death. They had become so 
used to it that in their rough way they 
often calculated on the length of time a 
man might survive if he fell into- the vat, 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM II7 

even supposing he was a good swimmer 
and help was not far off. 

Once on that day, on the evening of 
which his father had received the tele- 
gram, William Procter, as he crossed- 
this narrow plank, had a curious feeling 
that an easy accident would put an end 
to all his mental troubles. There was 
only a twelve-inch plank between death 
and life. He tiad this thought come to him 
when just over the middle of the tank. In 
an instant it flashed into him with all the 
force of his iniherited Pilgrim steadiness 
of moral character that what he was en- 
tertaining was nothing short of suicide. 
Many a man has 'committed it for less rea- 
son than William Procter could give. He 
suddenly ran across the plank, trembling, 
and when once on the other side he was 
seized with a faintness that compelled 
him to sit down at the fo'ot of the vat. 
He did not cross the board again that day. 

All this was in the morning. He had 
come into the mill ait 10 o’clock. His 
duties kept him continuously at work until 
7 o’clock in the evening, when a new 
shift came on. The mill was running night 
and day to All orders, and everything in it, 
including the men, was taxed to its fullest 
capacity. 

It was between 6 and 7 o’clock that Wil- 
liam was called into the furnace room to 
help one of the men there who was en- 


Il8 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

g-aged in repairing a part of the track on 
which the two mixers continnailly trav-. 
eled on their circular way. The work of 
the mill wais too valuable to be stopped, 
so the repairing went on while the red-hot 
miixer plunged into its fiery bath with a 
clanging of metal doOrs which closed be- 
hi»d it to protect the fires and emerged 
again with the same orash of iron on iron 
when the carriage, white hot from its in- 
visible and lawful journey through the 
blast, broke out of its prison and flung it- 
self around the circle of steel rails wither- 
ing everything with its intense heat and 
a® evening came on, filling the narrow 
room w'ith a light that glowed remorse- 
lessly from its blades and arms. Often, to 
William, standing fascinated in the pres- 
ence of this Strange metal monster, press- 
ing back against the walls of the mill to 
keep from being hit by it, it seemed that 
the thing wais alive and conscious, and 
waiting only its time to fiing itself off the 
track that held it, upon a man, and strike 
him down with its mnrderOuis white hot 
fists, and kill him for pleasure. 

He crawled under the track where the 
other man was trying tO' screw a bolt into 
a part of the iron foundation on which the 
track rested. When the mixer passed over 
them, it seemed to William Procter as if 
the heat would suffocate him. He won- 
dered at the stolid endurance of the fur- 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


II9 


niace men wh'o moved about in the unnat- 
ural heat and worked in such places as this 
for hours. 

The two men worked hard, panting with 
the heat and scorched, now and then, with 
the fine particles of ore dust which fell 
from the mixers, as they crossed the track 
in turn above them. But after working 
several minutes they were not able to screw 
the bolt into its place. 

“You will have to go into the tool house 
and get the large wrenches,” William said 
to his compainion. He could have gone 
himself, but for the moment he felt some 
compassion on the man who had been at 
work longer than usual in his cramped po- 
sition. 

The man crawled out from under the 
track, and William was left alone. He 
waited until the heat became so unbear- 
able that he finally crept out and went 
over at the side of the furnace room to 
wait for the man to come back. 

It is not very clear how it happened, for 
no one was in the furnace room on that 
side, at the time. It seemed probable 
from William’s own disconnected account 
afterwards, that he had started to go from 
the place where he first stood to one of the 
doors. He was probably absent-minded, 
thinking over hit troubles, going over his 
old struggle as to his personal responsi- 
bility. 


120 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


However that may be, in the dusk, lighted 
by the glow of the two mixers as they al- 
ternately burst from the furnace, a ter- 
rible thing happened. 

The machine at last had met its op- 
portunity. One of the long mctai arms 
above the stirring blades, caught the sleeve 
of William’s blouse as he walked along. 

He came to himself in an instant, and, 
realizing his great danger, he reached out 
his other hand to loosen his sleeve. It 
was burning, but the long, pointed piece 
of metal had been thrust throug’h the tough 
cloth and he was unable to pull his arm 
loose at once. He could feel the red-hot 
iron burning into the flesh, but he still 
kept his self-possession, as he w^alked along 
by the machine and strained with all his 
might. He probably would have suc- 
ceeded in breaking away, but just then 
his foot struck the tool which the man had 
dropped on the floor when he went out. 

He stumbled and fell forward. In doing 
so he tore his arm away from the mixer, 
but fell behind it full upon the circular 
track, striking his head upon the after part 
of the mixer as he fell. 

He was now in the path of the other 
mixer, which had just entered the furnace. 
The time between the two mixers was 
about twenty-five seconds. The furnace- 
room was still empty. The workman had 
not returned. And there lay the form of a 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


I2I 


man, insensible, already badly burned, full 
across the track. 

The second machine rumbled out of the 
furnace and rolled down, grim and terrible 
toward its victim. It almost seemed as if 
the monster thought. Still the room was 
empty, except for that quiet form, lying 
there across the track. One hand feebly 
moved.. The head stirred a little. A 
breath of the cool evening from the hills 
blew into the open door and even gained a 
little into the blast of the heat over the 
track. In a few seconds the man will be 
conscious again. 

But William Proctor still lay there, and 
the mixer almost upon him, when a man 
stepped through the open door and looked 
into the mill. 

In the triumphant glow of the advanc- 
ing machine he saw the form of the man 
on the track. With a cry he leaped up 
astride the track, lifted up the body and 
leaped down again with it. As he did so, 
one of the mixing blades swept its red-hot 
side against his hand, burning the whole 
back of it to a blister. 

But without noticing that, he staggered 
with his burden to the open door, and laid 
the form down quietty, resting the head 
upon the door sill. 

Then the cried aloud for help. Men 
came running across the yard and through 
the furnace room. 


122 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


The man who had saved William’s life 
looked up as he kneeled by the side of the 
still unconscious body. 

“Bring some water! Kun for the com- 
pany’s doctor, someone! He is in the as- 
sayer’s office. I just left him there as I 
came by!” 

Two men ran in obedience to these orders 
given sharply, but quietly. 

When the Doctor came, William was just 
regaining his senses. The first face he saw 
was Francis Kandall’s. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked feebly. 

“You’re hurt a little, but the doctor’s 
here. We are going to take you home,” 
said Randall, gently. 

William fainted again. The men impro- 
vised a rude stretcher and carried him over 
to his boarding place, the doctor going 
along with Randall. 

“Is he badly hurt, doctor?” asked Ran- 
dall, as he w'alked along in the dusk, be- 
hind the little procession. As he walked, 
he silently wrapped his handkerchief about 
his hand. 

“His right arm is burned to the bone. 
That burn on his face is a deep one. He 
must have fallen full force upon the mixer. 
Did you see the accident? How did it hap- 
pen?’ 

“I found him lying unconscious across 
the track,” answered Randall. 

“Did you?” asked the doctor, peering 


the; miraci^e; at markham 


123 



(( 


THEN HE CRIED ALOETD FOR HELR.” 


124 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


curiously at Randall through the dusk. 

“Yes,” replied Randall. The doctor 
waited to hear more, but Randall was 
silent. 

“You must have carried him from the 
track to the door?’ asked the doctor, after 
a pause. 

“Yes. He is not very heavy,” replied Ran- 
dall. 

“Humph!” grunted the doctor. But he 
was used to accidents of all sorts and asked 
no more questions. 

The doctor was busy with William for 
over an hour. Francis Randall stayed in the 
little room, to be of help, if it was needed. 
Once he went out and asked the woman 
who kept the house to give him some flour 
to put on his hand. When he came back 
the doctor noticed the bandage for the flrst 
time. 

“You’re hurt, yourself, Mr. Randall?” 

“A little; I burned my hand.” 

“Let me see ft,” cried the doctor a little 
roughly. 

Randall hesitated at flrst, and then smil- 
ing a little, uncovered the wound. 

The doctor looked at the wound and 
then at the clergyman, but said nothing. 
Randall replaced the covering. 

“How is he?” he asked, looking toward 
the still unconscious form on the bed. 

“To tell the truth, he is in bad shape. 
If he has any relatives or friends who 


THE MIRACIvE at MARKHAM 


125 


ought to be sent for, the quicker the bet- 
ter.” 

“I know his people,” said Randall, sadly, 
“ril telegra^ih if you say so.” 

“You’d better. I think the chances are 
against him. He is badly hurt in the head. 
If he were my boy, I should want to see 
him as soon as possible.” 

So that is how it came about that Fran- 
cis Randall tore down the hill to the rail- 
road station, and the message was sent fly- 
ing over the states to Rev. John Proctor, 
of Alai kham. 

He hurried home from that eventful 
meeting of his church and broke the news 
to his wife and Jane. 

Mrs. Proctor looked at her husband and 
instantly said: 

“We will both go to him.” 

Jane cried to go also, but even in the ex- 
citement being made by her father and 
mother, she finally agreed with them that 
it would not be best. Her mother could do 
all that was necessary. It would only add 
to the expense if Jane went and it could 
not help William any. 

She quietly helped her mother to prepare 
for the journey. As they were packing a 
valise, Mrs. Procter suddenly asked her hus- 
band: 

“How did it happen that Francis Randall 
sent the telegram?” 

“I don’t know any more about it than 


126 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


you do. It was signed by him. That is 
all I know.” 

“It is strange. Mrs. Randall showed me 
one of his last letters from Pyramid, in 
which he wrote of meeting William, but 
said that Will was shy and he would not 
intrude on him So I*had supposed the two 
seldom met.” 

“We shall learn all about it when we get 
there. The Lord spare our son ” 

John Proctor nearly broke down. When 
Jane finally kissed ,them good-by, she 
bravely kept up courage and cheered the 
father and mother wdth words of hope, 
but when they had gone she turned back 
into the parsonage and cried hard. The 
telegram had been left on the table She 
took it up and read it again. Some how, 
the sight of Francis Randall’s name at the 
end of the solemn message comforted her. 
William was already wdth a friend. That 
was worth something to her, as she pic- 
tured the father and mother speeding west. 

During the days that followed, Jane suf- 
fered more than the others from the sus- 
pense and anxiety. There had come a tel- 
egram, announcing their arrival and the 
fact that William was yet alive. But then 
followed a waiting of several days. A pos- 
tal card from her father, written each day, 
simply announced that William was living, 
but no change yet. Then, at last, came a 
letter from her mother, the reading of 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


127 


which brought the color into Jane’s face, 
and made her heart beat with a variety of 
emotions. Along with the letter were two 
copies of the Pyramid daily paper, marked. 

Jane read both the letter and the marked 
article in the paper one evening after sup* 
per. A friend of hers, one of the other 
teachers, had been staying with her and 
was present in the room. After reading 
the letter, Jane asked her friend if she 
would like to hear the news from Pyra- 
mid. 

“Yes, by all means.” 

“My voice may tremble a little,” said 
Jane, who was unusually excited, “but 
you will excuse it, when you hear what 
mother has written.” 

Pyramid, Col. 

Dear Jane — I write with a glad heart today. 
Will is out of danger. The crisis in his favor 
-• was reached and passed last night. The Lord 
has given me strength far beyond my expecta- 
tion, and while I have lost a great deal of 
sleep, I am well and happy. The dear boy is 
terribly worn by his illness, but this morning 
he knew your father and me, and sent his love 
to you. 

I cannot tell you what a v/onderful help 
Francis Randall has been to us during all this 
experience. We did not learn until we had been 
here a week, how much we owed to him for 
saving Will’s life. I have not yet been inside of 
one of the reduction ore mills, but your father 
who visited the one where Will was hurt, gave 
me a very graphic picture of it. 

There is an immense furnace where the crush- 
ed ore, as fine as flour, is roasted. While it is 


128 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


being roasted, two great machines with plows, 
or stirrers, enter the furnace and stir the ore 
to bring it all evenly in contact with the fire 
and the air. These machines travel on a cir~ 
cular track, and enter and leave the furnace 
at equal distances. 

It seems that Will, in some way, (he is not 
clear about it, himself) stumbled and fell over 
this circular track, and was burned, terribly, 
in doing so. In tailing, he struck bis head on 
the machine, and lay across the track uncon- 
scious. The other machine had come, white 
hot, out of the furnace, and was almost upon 
him, when Francis Randall, who happened to 
be going by the mill that evening, on his way 
from the company doctor’s, saw the body on 
the track, jumped up in front of the mixer, and 
lifted Will down, so saving his life, for if he 
had been struck by the monstrous machine, it 
would have burned him to death. 

Francis Randall did not tell us all this in this 
way, but we found out that what he did was 
even more heroic than I know how to tell it. 
He received a dreadful burn on his right hand. 
The whole back of it was burned to a crisp. 
The doctor says he will always carry a great 
scar. It will be a very honorable one, and we, 
certainly, as a family, will always take him 
bj* that hand with a peculiar feeling of respect 
and esteem. 

Here Jane’s voice faltered, and her friend 
looked at her a little inquisitively. She did 
not know about Jane’s romance, but she 
knew that Jane was not indifferent to the 
young- Episcopalian clergyman. 

After a moment, Jane went on again and 
finished the letter with a calm voice. 

I send you two copies of the Pyramid Miner, 
containing an account of Will’s accident, and 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


129 


Mr. Randall’s work here, together with a 
sketch of his heroism. It is written in a some- 
what wild Western style, full of adjectives and 
mining camp expressions, your father says, 
but I am sure the artidle does not at all exag- 
gerate the modest heroism of the act which 
saved your brother’s life. 

Your father will start for home tomorrow, as 
the affairs of the church, just now, are so 
critical as to call for his personal attention. I 
shall stay and nurse Will as long as it is neces- 
sary. Mr. and Mrs. Clark, ot the Congrega- 
tional Church, have been very kind to us, as 
well as many of their people. Perhaps Will will 
return with me. He is not able, yet, to talk of 
the future. Much love to you from 

• Mother. 

Jane put the letter back into the enve- 
lope and picked up a copy of the Pyramid 
paper. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE MESSAGE OF “THE PYRAMID MINER.” 

HE article on Randall 
was over a column 
long-. Jane read it 
with a feeling of satis- 
faction that she could 
not conceal from her 
friend. The article 
containing the account 
of William’s accident 
was dated the day 
after, and contained the following senten-. 
ces. After giving an extended account of 
the terrible nature of the accident and its 
serious results, the article went on: 

“Mr. Procter was formerly a Theological 
student in one of the Eastern Seminaries. 
He gave up the study for the ministry' 
on account of theological opinions. There 
was also a romance of some sort connected 
with his experience that drove him out of 
the ranks of a profession into the business 
of mill superintendent. The father of- Mr. 
Proctor, Rev. John Proctor, of Markham, 
Ohio, has been telegraphed for and will 
probably be here this week. The accident 
is of a serious nature, and may result fa- 
tally. At present the patient is still un 
conscious.” 

That night, when she went to her room, 



THE MIRACEE AT MARRHAM 


I3I 

.]nne read her mother’s letter and the news- 
paper article again. Her cheeks flushed 
and her eyes grew dim as she pictured the 
scene of the mill. She felt proud that the 
man who loved her was a hero 

“1 never thought that a minister could 
be a hero,” said Jane, thoughtfully. “1 could 
almost- — — ” 

She did not say what she “could almost,” 
but if Francis Randall could have pleaded 
his suit at that moment it might have been 
possible that Jane would have put her hand 
into his scarred one and given him her 
heart with a tearful pride in him. 

Then she began to think of her brother 
and the article in the paper relating to the 
accident and speaking of his Andover ex- 
perience. How any newspaper man ever 
found out anything about William Proc- 
tor’s private romance back there \fas a 
startling mystery to Jane, but some ho^v 
it had become known and Jane was sud- 
denly impelled to do a thing with the news- 
paper which she might well have hesitated 
to do if she could have foreseen all the 
immediate consequences of it. 

She had secured from her brother, be- 
fore he went out to Pyramid the name of 
the Andover young woman whose picture 
had so agitated William while he was pack- 
ing his trunk. Jane, in a moment of al- 
most anger at this young woman, who had 
helped to spoil her brother’s life, decided to 


1^2 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

send her the copy of the paper containing 
the vivid account of William’s accident. 

She was not as sincere and honest as Jane 
Proctor usually was in the habit of being, 
for she sent no word of William’s recovery. 
But there was a feeling within her which 
said in quite a hard spirit: 

“Let her suffer a little if she cares any 
for him. I’m sure she has hurt him deeply 
enough.” 

So there went out of the Markham Post- 
office the next morning a copy of the 
“Pyramid Miner,” addressed to “Miss lle- 
becca Phillips, Andover, Mass.,” wdth a cer- 
tain article marked at the bottom with 
Jane’s initials. 

The evening of the day after Jane had 
sent this Pyramid paper. Prof. Elias Phil- 
lips, of Andover Theological Seminary, was 
sitting in his study working over some 
manuscript notes on his new book, 
which was an exhaustive analysis of the 
characteristics of the minor prophets. The 
evening mail had just been brought to the 
house by one of the Academy boys, and 
Miss Kebecca had just come in to the study 
and laid some letters down on the Pro- 
fessor’s desk. 

“Is that ail?” asked the Professor a liL 
tie absently, as he glanced over the letters 
without opening any of them. 

“Yes, except a paper for me,” answered 
his daughter. 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


133 


She took the paper and went with it into 
the sitting-room. The study door was left 
a little ajar. 

The Professor was so much interested in 
his notes on the minor prophets that he 
let his letters lie unopened on his desk. A 
few minutes went by silently. Everything 
in the old mansion seemed very peaceful. 
The servants had finished their work and 
had gone to their rooms. It was so quiet 
that the Professor’s x>en (as usual, not a 
very good one), scratched noisily over his 
jiaper. He was making good progress with 
the work. If he could have an uninter- 
rupted hour or two every day during the 
coming winter he might hope to complete 
the book inside of three or four years. The 
Professor of Old Testament Literature was 
very methodical, and not a man to be hur- 
ried into print without having made very 
thorough preparation. 

Suddenly the scholastic quiet of the Pro- 
fessor’s surroundings was broken by a 
loud cry in the other room. He started, 
and sat up straight in his chair. The next 
mhment the study door opened hastily and 
his daughter came in. 

She was very pale and unusually excited. 
It was not a weakness of the Phillips’ fam- 
ily to become excited over anything. 

“Father, read that!” exclaimed Rebecca, 
holding out the “Pyramid Miner,” and 
pointing at the article which Jane had 


134 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


marked so heavily that it looked as if 
bounded by mourning-. 

The Professor took np the paper, but he 
did not look at the article. 

“What is the matter, my dear? You are 
very much agitated.” 

“Will you read the paper?” asked Miss 
Rebecca, almost angrily. It was true that 
she was very much moved. 

The Professor turned to the article and 
read it, without a word or look to betray 
any emotion 

“Well?” he said, looking up toward Re- 
becca. 

“Don’t you understand, father?” Rebecca 
came closer to him and laid a hand on his 
shoulder. Then she suddenly kneeled down 
by his chair and laid her proud head on her 
father’s arm. 

“It is William who is hurt; perhaps he is 
dead.” 

The Professor understood now. The 
minor prophets were of minor importance 
to him for the moment by the side of his 
daughter’s experience. 

“O! William Procter! Ah! I see! Yes! 

• I did not realize what it might mean to 
you! Rebecca — ” he put his hand on her 
head, and remembered, as he did so, that this 
proud young woman, the only daughter, 
had lost a mother’s counsel when she was 
a little girl. “Rebecca, is it true; do you — 
tell me frankly, my dear, do you still care 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


135 


for William Procter?” he asked, gently. 

“Yes.” The answer came in a very low 
voice, but there was no mistaking its mean- 
ing. 

“And yet you decided that — that — you 
could not share your life ” 

“Father,” said Eebecca, passionately, ris- 
ing and putting both hands on his should- 
ers, “I did not know how much — but you 
must telegraph to Pyramid and find out — ” 

“But this paper is dated nearly three 
weeks back,” said the Professor. “If he 
were fatally injured, surely w^e would know 
it by this time.” 

“Let me see!” cried Rebecca, and when 
she saw the date her heart leaped up with 
hope. 

“Still, father, we do not know' for cer- 
tain. Won’t you go down and send a mes- 
sage?” 

“Yes, of course, I will.” The Professor 
arose, looking a little sorrow'fully at his 
notes on the desk. 

“Of course it w'ould be better for you to 
send it?” said Miss Rebecca, looking a little 
hesitatingly at the Professor as he went 
out into the hall and took down his hat. 

The Professor did not reply, but he put 
on his hat and opened the door. Some- 
thing in his daughter’s face, as she stood, 
looking at him, moved him to shut the 
door again, and come back to her. 

“Rebecca,” he said, as he bent his gray 


136 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


head and kissed (and it was a long time 
since he had done so), “your father is not 
considered an authority in any thing ex- 
cept the Old Testament writers, but if you 
love William Procter — ” 

He looked into his daughter’s face and 
did not need to complete his sentence. She 
answered his look with one he thought he 
understood, and after his unusual caress 
he went out. 

When he was gone, Rebecca Phillips sat 
down in her father’s chair, and, the truth 
must be told, that several tears from eyes 
that nearly all Andover peox)le called proud, 
fell upon the manuscript relating to the 
minor prophets. 

Professor Phillips w'ent as fast as he 
could walk to the telegraph station and 
sent off two telegrams. 

The first was to the “Rev. John Procter, 
Markham.” 

Jane opened this telegram when it came 
with some misgiving at heart. 

She felt some twinges of conscience as 
she read it: 

Send word if William Procter is recovering. 
Haste. My expense. Elias Phillips, 

Andover, Mass. 

At first Jane had a moment of irresolu- 
tion, almost as if she did not mean to an- 
swer the Professor’s telegram. But she 
stepped into the telegraph office on her 
way to school the next morning and sent 


, t.'- 



'the: MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM ' I37 



* 









138 I'HK MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 

the following, directing it not to Professor 
Phillips, but to Rebecca: 

“William out of danger. Very ill. Mother 
is with him.” 

Jane Procter did not know Miss Rebecca 
Phillips at all, but she had a hope that the 
last four words might cause her some re- 
morse or heartache, or something that 
would result in William’s favor. It was 
not until long after that she knew anything 
of the result of that telegram. 

The other message, sent by the Professor 
was to Pyramid. 

He hesitated for a little before directing 
the address, but finally sent it to “Rev. 
Francis Randall, Pyramid, Colorado.” 

“Randall must know about it, of course. 
And he is sure to answer.” 

The Dean and the Professor were old 
friends. Indeed, it was through the Pro- 
fessor that Francis had first heard of Wil- 
liam at Pyramid. 

An answer to this telegram came 
promptly: 

Prof. Elias Phillips, Andover, Mass.: 

William out of danger. May lose sight of one 
eye. Francis Randall. 

The Professor said nothing when he 
handed this to Rebecca. But it is a part of 
the record of the Lincoln School, where 
Miss Rebecca taught that on that particular 
morning the school teacher in the Fourth B 
room seemed very much interested in some- 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


139 


thing" that had nothing" to do with the les- 
sons; that she had red eyes, as if she had 
been crying and that she seemed very glad 
when school was finally dismissed. 

Out at Pyramid the coming of that in- 
quiry from Andover had a peculiar effect 
on the invalid, lying weak and dependent 
in the little bedroom of the stuffy board- 
ing house near the mill. 

Eandall brought the telegram, and with- 
out a word, handed it to William. 

Andover, Mass. 

Is William Procter seriously injured? Tele- 
graph at once My charges. Elias Phillips. 

Eandall knew nothing whatever of Wil- 
liam’s romance. As the invalid raised his 
eyes from the telegram,,the clergyman said 
innocently: 

“Very kind of your old seminary Profes- 
sor to telegraph. It’s a little strange he is 
so late about it. Two weeks now since you 
were hurt.” 

“Is it?” asked William. He re-read the 
message, and his imagination began to fill 
in the cold spaces between the words of the 
telegram. Would the Professor have taken 
even this late interest in him? If so, was 
it not possible 

He was too weak to carry on his thought, 
and when the doctor called, he found his 
patient had a high fever. 

“What have you been doing to him?” he 
growled testily at Francis Eandall who 


140 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


had just risen to go as the doctor came in. 

“Nothing. He had a telegram this morn- 
ing. Or, rather, I had one inquiring about 
him.” 

“Let me see it,” said the doctor, abruptly. 

“Umph! Telegraph back that he will get 
well if folks will leave him alone,” said the 
doctor, who was in ill humor that morning. 

But William rallied in the afternoon and 
steadily grew stronger. The more he 
thought of the telegram the more hopeful 
lie became that Bebecca still did care for 
him. When his father had gone back to 
Markham and his mother was alone with 
him, he confided his secret to her, and she 
comforted him as only a mother can. 

When the Bev. John Procter reached 
Markham, after an absence of two weeks, 
he entered at once upon an unusual exper- 
ience. Even daring the anxious moments 
he had spent by his son’s bedside, the 
thoughts of his church in Markham had 
been with him. That it was at a great 
crisis in its history he knew very well. 
How the niatter w'ould finally be settled he 
was unable to declare with any certainty. 
Would a majority of his members vote to 
unite with the Presbyterians or some other 
body? If they did, w^ould the minority 
proceed to form another church, and so 
make matters as bad as they were before? 
How would the other churches take such 
a union? Would it make them more jealous 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 141 

than ever because such a union would make 
the largest, strongest church in Markham? 

He was not able to answer these ques- 
tions. Nevertheless, he was fully com- 
mitted in his own mind to the principle of 
union, as he had outlined it to his people. 

He reached home on Saturday and 
learned that a meeting of the church had 
been called for the following Monday in an- 
ticipation of his return. 

When Sunday came, for the first time in 
nearly fifteen years he found that he was 
not engaged anywhere to x^rcach. His ab- 
sence in Pyramid had been of such a char- 
acter that the other ministers in Markham 
could not very well make future appoint- 
mojits wilh him, although several of them 
had expressed the hearty wish that he 
preach in their churches until his own was 
rebuilt. He had returned hurriedly and 
very many of the people, even in his own 
Xrarish, did not know that he was back. 

John Procter hesitated a little when the 
hour for service came that morning, and 
finally decided to go and hear Harris, the 
Baptist minister. He had often heard him 
spoken of as narrorv and exceedingly bigot- 
ed in certain ways, and he thought he 
would go and hear for himself. 

“Brother Harris happily disappointed me 
once; perhax^s he will again,” said John 
Procter, as Jane and he went along to- 
gether. 


142 


THIC MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


As they went into the church, they no- 
ticed and spoke to several of their own 
church people and friends. hen they 
were seated they could not help noticing- 
a very large number of the Congregational 
Tjeople scattered through the house. 

“Why, father!” whispered Jane, after a 
moment, as people were still coming in. 
“It is communion Sunday here! See the 
table?” 

They were seated only three or four pews 
from the front on the side aisle. John 
Procter had noticed the communion 'table 
when he sat down. Jane’s whisi3er simply 
emphasized a curiously exciting emotion 
he now began to feel at the sight of the fa- 
miliar emblems on the table. 

“Will Brother Harris ask us to partake 
of the Lord’s Supper?” 

The question came into John Procter’s 
mind with all the force of a most serious 
and important event. The Baptist minister 
had always been very close communion. 
Could he make a possible exception? 

The pulpit was still empty. The Kev. 
Charles Harris had not yet come out of 
the room back of the platform. The church 
was nearly full, and the organist was still 
playing the prelude. John Procter, with 
a feeling of growing expectancy, sat there 
with his eyes on the door which led from the 
pastor’s study to his pulpit. 


CHAPTER XI, 

“ACCORDING TO THE MASTER’S COMMANDS.” 

E Eev Charles Harris at last 
opened the door back of the 
pulpit platform and came 
out. As he took his seat it 
is uncertain if he was con- 
scious at first of John Proc- 
ter’s presence. After a moment, however, 
he lifted his head and looked over the con- 
g-regation. As his eye rested on that part 
of the church where John Procter and Jane 
were seated, he made a movement as if he 
intended to go down and speak to him. He 
had half risen from his seat, but seemed 
to change his mind, for he sat down again 
and when he finally did rise It was to open 
the regular service of the church. 

It was the custom in the First Baptist 
Church of Markham to have a regular 
preaching service before the, conimunion. 
The pastor then came down from the pul- 
])it and stood behind the table. If there 
were any baptisms they took place im- 
mediately after the sermon. The pastor 
then stepped back into his room to change 
from his baptismal dress and came out into 
the church room through the side door, 
which opened at the end of one of the side 
aisles. 

There were several baptisms on this 



i44 the MIRACtfi AT MARKHAM 

special day in the religious nistory of Mark- 
ham, a day that no one f>iesent there ever 
forgot, Charles Harris went on with the 
serviee up to the point of the sermon, with 
a noticeable embarrassment of manner. 
The sermon itself was not remarkable in 
any way. John Procter, himself something 
of a scholar, and as he was willing to con- 
fess, somewhat inclined to be proud of that 
fact, caught himself several times on the 
point of criticising sentences and expres- 
sions that would not bear the test of rhe- 
torical rules. As often as he found himself 
doing this, he rebuked the spirit that 
prompted it. The sermon was not without 
excellent thought. There was a sincerity 
about it that went far toward redeeming 
it from indifference, and John Procter com- 
pelled himself to say so. 

During the baptisms which followed, 
both John Procter and Jane were impressed 
by the service. They had never, either of 
them. Been present at such a service, and 
they were struck with the simplicity and 
earnestness of the minister and those who 
presented themselves for membership. 

As soon as the baptisms were over, the 
choir began the singing of an anthem ap- 
propriate to the service. John Procter 
knew enough of the customs of the Baptist 
Church from what he had heard others say, 
to know that the minister would enter the 


The miracee at Markham 


145 


room from the side aisle door. He kept 
his eyes on this door with a strang-e excite- 
ment of feeling". Upon what might possibly 
happen in the next few minutes wohld de- 
pend the shaping of church history in Mark- 
ham along some very vital lines of life. 
John Procter did not have time to analyze 
all that he hoped or feared from what 
might be. He only knew that somehow he 
could not help attaching very great impor- 
tance to the a^jpearance of the Baptist min- 
ister when he should come out of his room 
and go up to the communion table. 

There was an unusually long time before 
the minister appeared. The choir had fin- 
ished its anthem and sat down. The organ- 
ist continued j)laying, but it was evident 
to John Procter, from the actions of people 
around him, that the prolonged absence 
of the minister was very unusual. 

At last, w'hen the waiting of the congre- 
gation had grown to be painfully embar- 
rassing, the door that every one wns now 
looking at opened, and the llev. Charles 
Harris appeared. 

He came into the church very slowly, and 
deliberately shut the door as he faced the 
people. For aii instant he stood still. Then 
he walked directly down the aisle to where 
John Procter was sitting and bent over and 
whispered something to him. 

The church w^as very quiet, and every one 
was looking intently at the two ministers. 


146 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

John Procter was^seen to change color, as 
if he had been unexpectedly moved. The 
next moment he rose from his seat and fol- 
lowed Charles Harris up to the communion 
table. He sat down in the seat to which 
Harris motioned him, while the pastor re- 
mained standing, facing his people. 

The First Baptist Church of Markhan 
had never knoAvn such an exciting moment 
in all its church historj' There was no law 
or rule in the church forbidding other de- 
nominations from partaking of the Lord’s 
Supper. It had simply been a custom dat- 
ing back to the organization of the church. 
And never j^et had that custom been 
changed or varied. 

The Rev. Charles Harris spoke slowly, 
but distinctly. 

“I have taken the liberty to-day of in- 
viting to the Lord’s table to assist me. Rev. 
John Procter. We shall be glad to have 
our friends of the Congregational Church 
who are present with us to-day, partake of 
the eniblems with us according to the 
Master’s command.” 

He looked about for a moment, and then 
gave out the hymn, “Blest be the tie that 
binds our hearts in Christian love.” 

It is doubtful if that hymn had ever been 
sung before with more emotion in that 
church. It certainly had never been sung 
before with reference to any other denom- 
ination. After it was finished, the minister 


THE MIRACEH at MARKHAM 


147 


offered a prayer and served the bread. He 
asked John Proeter to follow him in the 
service of the cup. All through the con- 
gregation there was a deepening feeling 
of interest. It reached its climax when, at 
the close of the communion, the minister 
spoke a few words, in which he referred 
to the sermon preached by John Procter 
the first Sunday after his own church was 
burned down. All the while he was speak- 
ing the people showed by many tokens 
that they were deeply moved. 

When the service closed, nearly every one 
in the church crowded up to the front to 
shake John Procter’s hand. A breaking 
down of all sectarian lines seemed to John 
Procter to be possible. He was almost be- 
wildered as he stood there thinking about 
the morning’s experience. He was unable 
to account for the absence of opposition in 
the Baptist congregation to what had un- 
doubtedly been a most decided innovation. 
A few of the older men and women walked 
out of the church without greeting the 
pastor. There was, on the part of a few, a 
very strong objection to what Charles Har- 
ris had done. But the majority of the mem- 
bers seemed to approve of his action. It 
was almost as if a movement had been be- 
gun for which their hearts and minds had 
long been prepared. 

“Will you come into the study a moment, 
Mr. Procter?” asked Harris, when finally 


148 THE MIRaCEE at MARKHAM 


the people had all g-one. Jane was waiting, 
bnt she went out when her father said he 
might remain a little, while longer, and the 
two ministers went into the little room 
back of the pulpit. 

“I feel as if some explanation were due 
you for my action to-day,” began Charles 
Harris, with the same noticeable embar- 
rassment he had shown in the pulpit. This 
soon passed awajs as he went on with his 
explanation. 

“Brother Procter, when I stepped in here 
after the baptism I had not made up my 
mind about inviting you and your people 
to the Lord’s Supper. I had thought of it 
the moment I saw you, but I was not sure 
that I ought to break over an old and es- 
tablished custom of our church. When the 
baptisms were finally over and I had come 
in here I had an unusual experience. Since 
the burning of your church and j^our 
preaching in my pulpit I have felt as if 
some great influence were at work in Mark- 
ham. Is it the Divine Spirit manifesting 
Himself in unusual power lor some reason 
we cannot tell? What else could have pre- 
vailed upon Dean Bandall to do such an 
astonishing thing as to invite you into the 
pulpit of Grace Cathedral? 

“I have asked these questions many times 
lately. But when I came into my room 
here I was met by an actual Presence that 
I could not deny. That is the reason my 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


149 



“ THERE WAS, ON THE PART OF A FEW. A VERY 
STRONG OBJECTION.” 


' - 






150 THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 

stay here was so long. I have never had a 
similar experience. If Christ is still alive, 
as we say we believe, He manifested him- 
self to me here in a way 1 cannot wholly 
explain. I saw no form, 1 heard no voice. 
But I was conscious of an apj)eal being 
made to me by some person who instantly 
became real to my thought as the Lord. 

“It is hardly necessary for me to say. 
Brother Procter, that I have always been a 
very zealous Baptist. The last thing' in the 
world that I once expected to do is what 
I have done today. I have always believed 
that close communion was an essential cus- 
tom of our church. I have preached against 
open communion when it was practiced by 
the ministers of our denomination in Eng- 
land or in this country. But this morning 
I was irresistibly influenced to invite you 
and your people to the Lord’s Supper. The 
Presence that seemed to be waiting for me 
here when I came in from the baptisms 
seemed to insist that I do as I did. I re- 
belled at first. But I could not leave the 
room. I knew the people were waiting 
for me to.come out; but when I finally did 
yield, it seemed as if there was a sudden 
breaking into the room of a great light. 
We do not live in an age of miracles, Broth- 
er Procter; but I cannot deny the experi- 
ence I had here an hour ago.” 

“It was the Holy Spirit,” said John Proc- 
tor. He spoke after a long silence. He had 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM I51 

never felt so solemn, so profoundly moved. 
Was the miracle at Markham, that he had 
judg’ed necessary for the union of the 
churches about to be w^rought? If God was 
in his world yet, and Christ loved the 
church yet, as he did two thousand years 
ago, why not? Was the age without a mir- 
acle? Was the Holy Spirit unable to move 
a man or a city in this way? 

Charles Harris was not a remarkable 
man in any way. He was a narrow, un- 
educated man in many ways. But he was 
sincere and wholly devoted to the church, 
or at least to the definition he had made 
of the church. The experience he had had 
that day was far beyond any thing in his 
religious life. But the Lord does not al- 
ways stop to choose out any particular 
man as we think He ought to when certain 
movements in the religious history of a 
community are needed. That He had 
chosen to move through this man was a 
matter of more moment to John Procter 
just then than anything else. It was not 
the man, so much as the message, that he 
had received that moved and agitated John 
Procter. 

It was perfectly natural that in the next 
few minutes that followed the relation of 
Charles Harris’s experience, the two min- 
isters found themselves on their knees 
praying together. What was true in the 
case of the Dean and John Procter after 


152 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


the service at the Cathedral found a repe- 
tition in the little room back of the pulpit 
in the Baptist Church. And John Procter 
knew when he finally went out of that 
room that so far as Charles Harris, and, 
probably, also his church were concerned, 
another step had been taken towards a 
true church in Markham. 

With this profound imiiression of the 
divine impulse that was gaining’ power, 
John Procter went to the meeting of his 
church the next evening. It was the con- 
gregational meeting, which was to decide 
the future of the Congregational church in 
Markham. With the seriousness which was 
inevitable from such a fact the people 
crowded the Presbyterian church, whicli 
had been offered to them for use on this 
occasion, and with a deepening seriousness 
they discussed for three hours every phase 
of the proxiosed union with some other 
ehureh in Markham. 

The discussion had been carried on with- 
out formal motion. The most prominent 
members had exjiressed themselves freely, 
r'inall}^ one of the Deacons, a man of verj’’ 
sweet and strong spirit, a man whose 
Christian character commanded the re- 
spect of every member of the church, rose 
and offered a formal motion. 

“I move,” he said, with grave delibera- 
tion, while John Procter looked at him, 
and then at the congregation, with increas- 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


153 


ing emotion, “I move that our church take 
steps to unite with some other Christian 
church here in Markham, and that the 
details of such union be left to a commit- 
tee, of which our pastor shall be the chair- 
man.” 

The motion was seconded at once by one 
of the Trustees. The congregation had 
virtually been discussing such a motion all 
the evening. They were ready now to act 
upon it. John Procter, however, could not 
tell even yet, after all the evening’s con- 
ference, how the vote would go. The en- 
tire movement beneath the surface of re- 
ligious feeling in Markham was yet largely 
unknown to him. 

The vote was taken by ballot. As the 
ballots were brought up to the table and 
the question w'as asked if every one had 
voted, there wms a solemn hush over the 
church. Even while the ballots w’^ere being 
counted there wns none of the usual whis- 
pering and confusion common at such a 
time. 

“The clerk is ready to announce the re- 
sult of the ballot,” said John Procter, as 
he rose and stood by the table, where the 
counting had been going on 

“Total number of votes cast is 132. Of 
which seven are against the motion, and 
the balance, 125, are in favor it.” 

The clerk’s voice was generally a little 
indistinct. There were people in the First 


154 MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

Congregational Church of Markham who 
had more than once criticised his enuncia- 
tion. But every syllable he uttered now, in 
the announcement of the result of the vote, 
fell very distinctly on the ears of the con- 
gregation. It would have been a dull peo- 
ple who would not be moved by such an 
announcement. The silence that greeted it 
was significant of the spirit of the church. 
There was no applause, no shallow en- 
thusiasm. The Congregational Church of 
Markham had taken the most important 
step in all its history and it realized the 
seriousness of it. 

John Procter said a few words. 

“I wish the vote had been entirely unan- 
imous. I am very glad, however, that it is 
practically so. I am sure that time will 
prove the Christian wisdom of our course. 
Let us have a few prayers, asking the 
Spirit to lead us into all the truth.” 

That famous meeting of the Congrega- 
tional Church in Markham closed with a 
tender appeal that left the glow of a spirit- 
ual reality in the hearts of the people. Be- 
fore they w^ent home, John Procter asked 
them to appoint the committee to serve 
with him. The committee was according- 
ly appointed and a date assigned for it to 
meet and afterward report to the church. 


Chapter xii. 

A FROKEN HEART. 



HEN the news 
of the action 


taken at the 
meeting, 
came out 
next morn- 


ing, all Markham 
was deeply moved by 
it. The daily paper 


which had for years run sensational items 
as a part of its local column, made the 
most of such a rare opportunity. A part 
of its account of the meeting is here quoted 
to show how it regarded the movement. 

“Since the burning of the Congregational 
Church it has been a question with the 
trustees whether they could possibly re- 
build. There was great diversity of opin- 
ion on this point. There is no doubt that 
Rev. John Procter’s opinion influenced very 
many of his members whose judgment is 
for continuing their own organization. It 
is also said that these members regret their 
vote to unite with some other chureh in 
Markham, and that they will probably go 
off with the minority who voted against the 
motion, and organize a Congregational 
Church. It is difficult to see what the Rev. 
Procter has to gain by such a move. We 


156 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


understand there is great discontent and 
dissatisfaction in liis congregation.” 

This is only a small part of the report in 
the paper. It was so mis-leading that John 
Procter was strongly tempted to reply to it. 
He did not do so, however, but he did a 
good deal of thinking along the line of the 
need of a Christian daily newsjoaper in 
Markham. More than once he said, “if we 
Christian people in Markham were once 
really united, we could have such a paper 
as we ought to have.” He put this thought 
as a dream to be realized, into his mind, 
and went forward to complete the work 
which now rested upon the committee of 
which he was chairman. 

They met at once, and after careful can- 
vas of all the conditions, decided to go to 
the pastor of the Presbyterian Church and 
ask him to call his session together for 
mutual conference. There was no other 
church in Markham that contained at that 
particular time so great a number of per- 
sonal friends and acquaintances of the 
Congregational Church members. The two 
churches were practically the same in doc- 
trine. They were the same in their ex- 
pressions of essential faith. Their church 
membership was small, and the union of 
the Congregationalists with them, would 
make a church of about 300 members in all. 

Rev. Hugh Cameron and his session ac- 
cordingly met John Procter and his com- 


'rHE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


157 


mittee and canvassed the whole situation 
carefully. 

It is without doubt that the Presbyteri- 
ans entertained with the greatest aston- 
ishment, the proposition that John Procter, 
in the name of the committee, finally laid 
before them. That proposition was, in 
brief, that the entire membership of the 
Congregational Church come into the Pres- 
byterian, bringing with them their pledge 
of financial support. That the money com- 
ing to them on the insurance of their 
burned building, be turned into the com- 
mon church treasury to be used for the 
purpose of lielping the needed benevolent 
or philanthropic work of Markham. That 
the two ministers be retained by the church 
and their services employed alternately in 
the pulpit and the general work of the 
town, wherever it would, in time, seem best 
to labor. That the business management 
of the church be under the direction of a 
Board of Managers to consist of the pres- 
ent Session of the Presbyterian Church, 
and the Trustees of the Congregational. 
That the present ofiicers of both churches 
—deacons, superintendents and teachers of 
Sunday Schools, be retained and assist one 
another in every way possible. That the 
salaries of the ministers be determined 
by the Board of Managers, their decision 
being ratified by the whole congregation. 
That the two churches finally come to- 


15 ^ THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM. 

g-etlier, when they so agreed, in a com- 
munion service which should be preceded 
by a series of prayer meetings the week 
before. 

This series of propositions modified and 
enlarged somewhat, was finally agreed 
upon. The Rev. Hugh Cameron and his 
session knelt in prayer with John Procter 
and his committee. They all confessed af-' 
terwards that they had never felt more of 
the Spirit’s presence than during that 
prayer meeting. The old formal, unchris- 
tian walls of prejudice melted away and 
fell down between them. Before they sej)- 
arated they clasped hands as brethren. 
John Procter, on reaching home, went im 
to his study and, bowing his head on his 
desk, gave thanks to God the Father for 
w’-hat he believed w^as the beginning of a 
new and unparalleled church life in Mark- 
ham. 

The decision reached by the conference 
of the two ministers and their committees, 
was in a short time brought before the two 
congregations, first, separately, afterwards, 
in a union meeting. There were some 
minor changes made in the propositions on 
which the two churches were to unite, but 
the final agreement w^as practically on the 
lines first laid dowm. The date for the 
communion service was decided upon, and 
the prayer week begun with an interest 
which had not been known in Markham 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


159 


since a famous revivalist had held meet- 
ings in the town many years before. 

When the morning of the communion 
dawned on Markham, it found the mem- 
bers of the two churches ready to come to- 
gether as Christian disciples. The prayer 
meetings during the week had been largely 
attended. Two of the seven members in 
John Procter’s church who had voted 
against union, came to him and asked to 
have their vote changed to the affirmative. 
The warmest spiritual interest existed 
throughout both churches. It was true, 
as John Procter had predicted, that one of 
the first results of their union with another 
church would Be a good outpouring of the 
Holy Spirit. But even he was not pre- 
pared for the manifestation that followed 
the communion service. 

The two ministers sat at the table. The 
church was crowded. Chairs had been 
brought into the aisles, and the gallery was 
filled long before the hour of service. 

A form of a mutual covenant had been 
agreed upon, and all the members of both 
churches rose while it was being read. At 
its close, Hugh Cameron grasped John 
Procter’s hand and spoke a few words of 
greeting. John Procter replied briefly. 
The most eloquent part of the impressive 
service was the communion itself, when 
the officers of both churches carried the 
bread and the cup to the members. The 


l6o THE MIR ACTE AT MARKHAM 

hushed congreg-ation, tne sight of the two 
ministers sitting side by side, the impres- 
sion made by the growing thought of what 
the day meant, made an occasion of rare 
and powerful moment. 

Throughout the day this feeling grew. 
At the evening service, the building wms 
again crowded as never before. Hugh 
Cameron and John Procter both spoke. A 
dozen men in the congregation came up 
after the service, and said they wanted to 
be Christians. TTiere was another service 
Avhich lasted until 10 o’clock, and when 
John Procter and Hugh Cameron finally 
went home, they carried with them the joy 
of knowing that they were at the begin- 
ning of a genuine Christian revival such as 
neither church had known since its organi- 
zation. 

During the weeks that followed, Mark- 
ham was moved by the Spirit of God. All 
the historj'" of that time has never been 
written. Some of it determined events 
that have to do with our characters and 
made possible what otherwise would have 
been beyond the reach of any human 
power. 

To all of this, the remarkable union of 
these two churches and the results that 
followed, the very Keverend Dean Eandall, 
of Grace CBthedral, was a profoundly 
moved spectator. He was more than a 
spectator. He offered to preach several 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM l6l 

times during' the meetings that were held 
night after night, and many a soul in Mark- 
ham recalls with tears of joy the fact that 
he owes his conversion to the wise and 
tender appeal of the Dean. 

But events for the Dean were moving on 
to a crisis. The action he had taken in 
asking John Procter into his pulpit had 
not been passed by unnoticed. One of his 
wardens had made formal complaint to the 
Bishop. The Bishop had, in turn, after 
another ineffectual remonstrance with the 
Dean, reluctantly cited him to appear for 
trial before the church tribunal authorized 
for the purpose. This ecclesiastical court 
was to sit on the coming Tuesday. This 
was six weeks after the union of the two 
churches, and while the religious meetings 
were at the climax of their power. 

The Dean had grown visibly older and 
sadder since these events became a part of 
his personal history. The inner fire of his 
spiritual revolution burned fiercely, and no 
man in Markham knew of his struggles. 
The Christ in Gethsemane sometimes 
seemed very far off to the Dean as he sat 
in his study. Again that agonizing figure 
drew^ near to him and gave him comfort. 

On Saturday one of the Dean’s parishion- 
ers, a man who loved and trusted him, 
came to see him about the trial. 

“There is one point we have overlooked,” 
he said, as he sat in the Dean’s study and 


1 62 .THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

noted with sorrow the Dean’s worn and 
even deathly expression. 

“The Cathedral has never been conse- 
crated. You remember we are waiting to 
complete the guild hall and a part of the 
east nave. No church rule can possibly 
forbid you from inviting a clergyman of 
another denomination into an unconse- 
crated church edifice. In making your de- 
fense before the tribunal next Tuesday, you 
can take the ground that the Cathedral 
has never been consecrated formally, and 
therefore, you had a perfect right to invite 
Brother Procter into Grace Cathedral.” 

The Dean was visiblj^ startled. He had 
forgotten the fact to which his parishioner 
called his attention. 

“It is true,” he replied. Then he was 
silent. It was a purely technical way of 
escaping from a difficulty. No church tri- 
bunal could hold him guilty on account of 
that technical fact. But had he no other 
or higher motive for what he had done? 

The parishioner went out of the Dean’s 
study puzzled to know what the Dean 
would do. He gave the impression that he 
did not intend to make use of the technical 
unconsecration of the Cathedral when he 
appeared before the court. 

Sunday, the people of Grace Cathedral 
all noted with an almost shocked surprise 
the manner of Dean Eandall in the pulpit. 
He looked like a man who had received 


HIS FACE WAS LYING ON THE PICTURE OF CHRIST IF GKTHSEMANE- 


the; miracte; at markham 







1 64 THE MIRACEK at MARKHAM 

some great blow that had disturbed his 
whole nature. The anticipation of the trial 
fixed for that week, was given as the rea- 
son for his agitation. And still, not even 
his closest friends understood the mental 
agony the Dean was enduring. 

He sat in his study Tuesday morning. 
The trial had been fixed for 10 o’clock. The 
clergymen and bishops summoned, had all 
arrived, and the occasion was one of deep 
interest to all Markham. 

The Dean had asked his wife to leave 
him for a few moments by himself. He 
wanted to write out something. She had 
been very anxious aboiit him that morning. 
He wanted a little while to be alone. He 
would be ready to go over to the Cathedral 
in time, he said. 

She went out, reluctantly. As she looked 
back, the view she had of her husband was 
reassuring. He was sitting quietly at his 
desk, writing. She shut the door and went 
into the sitting room to wait for him. 

The minutes went by, and still there was 
no movement on the part of the Dean to 
come out. It was five minutes after ten. 
Mrs. Randall was very nervous. She stole 
out into the hall and listened at the study 
door. No sound. The bell rang at that 
instant. The noise startled her. 

A messenger at the door had been sent 
over from the Cathedral to ask if the Dean 
was ill. The report had been circulated 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 1 65 


that he might not be able to appear for 
trial. The Court was seated, and ready for 
him. 

Mrs. Randall hesitated no longer. She 
opened the Dean’s study door softly, and 
took a step into the room. 

The Dean was still at his desk. What he 
had written lay neatly on the top of a 
Prayer Book. He had not taken his own 
life, but his face was lying on the picture 
of Christ in Gethsemane, which he had 
taken down from its usual position over his 
desk, and his spirit had departed to God 
who gave it, beyond the jurisdiction of all 
ecclesiastical courts of earthly power. 


CHAPTER xin. 

THE DEAN’S CONFESSION. 


HE third day after 
he was found dead 
in his study at the 
Manse, the body of 
Dean Kandall was 
buried in the cem- 
etery out on the 
wooded hills by 
the river. The funeral ser- 
vice in the Cathedral had been 
very impressive. Many of the 
clergymen who had been sum- 
moned to the trial of the 
Dean were present at his fu- 
neral. Bishop Park with un- 
usually sad face, in the chan- 
cel, read the service with a 
voice, which more than once broke with 
sympathy. For he loved Dean Randall, 
without altogether understanding him. 
Besides, as his eye rested on the front seat 
near the chancel rail, he felt during all the 
service the presence of Francis Randall, 
who had come from Pyramid. His mother 
leaned upon him, her white face turning 
often to him for comfort. 

Out at the grave she clasped her son’s 
arm with both her hands, while the words 
were recited solemnly. “Earth, to earth, 



THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 1 67 


ashes to ashes, dust to dust;” and as the 
rest drew back and left them nearer the 
grave, mother and son dropped tears of 
their common human itj^ on the coffin as 
it rested in its place. Then, going home, 
after the last friend had departed from 
the Manse, they went over again the writ- 
ten statement of the Dean, which he had 
composed the day of his death. They had 
already considered it several times. Fran- 
cis now held the sheets of paper in his 
hand and thoughtfully reviewed again 
his father’s confession. For that is what 
it really was. 

“To My Dear Wife and My Son Francis,” 
the paper began, and then went on as fol- 
lows : 

“The statement which is found at the 
close of what I write here this morning 
was written several years ago. At the 
present time, this Tuesday morning, when 
1 am awaiting the trial at the Cathedral, I 
do not see anything in the statement to 
modify or withdraw. I wish my wife and 
son to read what I have here written and 
make public only such parts of it as they 
may find it \wse to do. I have opened my 
whole heart to you. Some of my disclosure 
is too sacred for others. May the Lord of 
all grace and mercy keep and bless you. 
If I am summoned by the God of all life 
into his presence this day, I go prepared 
to meet His all-knowing and all-compas- 


1 68 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

sionate love. This is written in the faith 
that anticipates a joyful meeting” 

It was at this point that the Dean had 
evidently dropped his pen upon the pa- 
per. He had then evidently risen, reached 
down the picture, placed the leaves of his 
statement together, and then fallen with 
his face resting on the desk, as his wife 
had found him when she entered the study. 

The statement that followed what the 
Dean had written that Tuesday morning 
was this: 

“I write this which follows in order that 
those who are nearest to me by the ties 
of kindred and affection may understand 
what may seem to many of them contrary 
to my nature, as they think they have 
known me for many years. 

“When the Rev. John Procter’s church 
burned down and I invited him into the 
pulpit of Grace Cathedral, probably not 
one man among all my acquaintances in 
Markham understood my motive. It was 
not a sudden resolve on my part, but was 
in reality the result of the conviction of 
several years’ experience and meditation, 
deepened and strengthened by the exper- 
ience of my own son in his Western parish. 

“But since my invitation of Brother 
I'rocter and his acceptance, which has led 
up to this ecclesiastical trial, which awaits 
me, I have had a strange and, to me, in- 
expressibly painful revolution of feeling 


the: miracte at markham 169 


and also of judgment over this matter 
“Day by day the conviction has grown 
with me that I have made a mistake in 
this matter. It is difficiilt for me to explain 
what I mean by this. I believe as firmly 
as ever in the great need of Christian 
union. I feel as if it was all wrong that 
our church, into which I have grown by 
long years of association, should refuse 
by its canon law to admit clergymen of 
other denominations into its pulpit to 
jjreach or administer the sacraments. But 
iny judgment begins to torture me by as- 
serting that I have not chosen the best or 
wisest way to bring about a change in this 
church rule of conduct. I begin to think 
that I should either have withdrawn from 
the Episcopal Church altogether and united 
with some other, where my convictions on 
this question would not be outraged; or, 
failing to do this, I ought to have con- 
fessed to the Bishop my fault and so let 
the matter fall without the inevitable trial. 

“I have clone neither of these things. 
My whole outward church life has made 
such a course as either one of these im- 
])Ossible for me. I have therefore been 
tormented by the conviction that my at- 
tempt to bring about a spirit of Christian 
union has failed within my own church, 
while at the same time I have not acknowl- 
edged my mistake, nor withdrawn myself 
from the dilemma which has grown more 


THEJ MIRACLE A'C MARKHAM 


170 


perplexing to me with every day’s ap- 
proach to the trial. 

“As I write this, I do not see at all 
clearly what the future is for the Epis- 
copal Church, so far as any attempt to- 
wards real church union is concerned. If 
the time should come when the old canon 
law, forbidding other ministers to preach 
in our churches should be withdrawn or 
modified, it would, without doubt, have a 
mighty influence upon the churches to 
bring them together. As I write this, 
with the conviction growing firmer than 
ever that I myself have not taken the right 
course to bring about this result, I am 
without any hesitation whatever in saying 
that this canon is contrary to the spirit 
of Christ and ought not to be a part of 
the Episcopal Church life. When, how- 
ever, T try to answer the question, how 
shall the Church unite more fully with the 
other churches and Christians, I have no 
answer. My own struggles and my own 
personal convictions of mistake in what I 
have done leave me in no condition to de- 
cide a possible course for my Church to 
pursue, even supposing it wishes to unite 
fully with Christendom. 

“I have also a confession to make re- 
garding my own personal failure to iden- 
tify myself with any movement towards 
the public welfare of Markham. I have, 
and I say it with deep and painful regret. 


XHIC MIRACIvIC AT MARKHAM I71 

cut myself selfishly away from all other 
men and measures in matters of public 
good. My natural tastes and habits have 
been those of the recluse and the scholar. 
As I draw near what I have a presenti- 
ment is the end, I regret with a bitterness 
which only deeply sensitive natures feel, 
my unchristian-like isolation from the com- 
mon sins and needs of the town where I 
have lived so long. 

“I do not yet know what my action will 
be at the trial. I await it with a dread 
which is heightened by my confusion of 
mind at the thought of a blunder of judg- 
ment, which had at the heart of it a most 
truthful desire to do the Christlike thing. 

“There is one other matter which con- 
cerns my family. For the last two years 
I have looked death in the face daily. A 
lesion of the heart valves has made pos- 
sible my sudden death at any time. My 
physician knows this. No one else. I 
have considered all sides of the possibility 
so far as my own wife and son are con- 
cerned. There would be no difference in 
my condition or in the chances for my 
recovery if 1 were to cease work. I am in no 
pain, and my end, when it comes, will 
probably be swift and without suffering. 

“I think my wife and son will under- 
stand what I have tried to explain. I love 
the Church into which 1 was born and to 
which I have given my service, weak and 


172 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


imperfect as it may be. But I am torn 
by an inward conflict, as I behold her di- 
vided from her brethren, and I realize my 
own powerlessness to change or better her 
rules of conduct. If, when I am gone, 
even the result of my imperfect and un- 
satisfactory desire shall be a longing to 
unite with other Christians, that shall in- 
time do away with the old customs, I shall 
count all the experience of the past year 
in my life as worth while. 

“Meanwhile I walk in the darkness. 
Yet have I not often sung, “The Lord is 
my light and my salvation?” 

Here the confession ended with an 
abrui>tness that seemed to indicate an in- 
terruption which was of such a nature as 
to demand instant attention, and evident- 
ly at no future time had the Dean wished 
to add to what he had written. 

For a long time Francis Randall and his 
mother dwelt upon this remakrable reve- 
lation of the Dean’s inner experience. 

“Do you think, do you believe, Francis, 
that your father was really mistaken — 1 
mean, did he make a real mistake when he 
invited Mr. Procter into the Cathedral?” 

Mrs. Randall asked this question of her 
son with painful interest in his rejDly. 

“Alother,” said Francis, slowly, “I do not 
yet believe that father made any mistake. 
But it is the sad thing for us to know now 
that he believed he did. What he says 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


173 


about the best way to bring about a union 
between our cEurch and others is vital. I 
have struggled over that question more than 
over any other. I do not yet see the light.” 

During Francis Randall’s stay in Mark- 
ham, attending to the business of his 
father’s estate, mother and son often re- 
curred to the Dean’s confession. What his 
father had wrftten affected Francis Ran- 
dall deeply. It had the effect of modify- 
ing his views on some points. But con- 
cerning his own view of the best way to 
effect a union between his own church 
and others he was more and more per- 
plexed. That his father had agonized over 
it until it had been one of the immediate 
causes of his death, or at least the mental 
stress that had hastened it, Francis was 
fully convinced. In a growing seriousness 
and a more passionate longing for the 
most Christian wisdom to settle his own 
religious convictions right, he prepared to 
return to his ov^m work in Pyramid. 

But before he went back to that life of 
stress and struggle with the wild life that 
wounded his manly soul like a crucifixion, 
he went to see Jane Procter and plead with 
her again to go with him. 

He had not seen Jane to talk with her 
since his sad return on account of the 
death of the Dean. Once he had stepped 
into the house for a formal call of a few 
montents and had seen Mr. and Mrs. 


174 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

Procter, but Jane was not yet home from 
her school. He wondered a little if she 
had purposely avoided hm. 

So he called the next time after school 
hours, late in the afternoon. This was 
two weeks after his father’s death. 

When he rang the bell, Jane herself 
opened the door. She had on her hat and 
cloak and seemed confused at the sight of 
Randall. 

“Excuse me,” said Francis gravely, 
“perhaps you were going out. Don’t let 
me keep jmu if you were.” 

“No, no,” murmured Jane, “I — you — I am 
very glad to see you. Won’t you come in?” 

Francis Randall entered and followed 
Jane into the parlor. As he took a seat, 
Jane noticed that his hand, the one that 
had been burned at the time of William’s 
accident, was really disfigured. As she 
remembered, Francis Randall had once 
been proud of his physical perfection. She 
wondered how he felt now. 

“Did you really mean that?” asked Ran- 
dall, after a second’s very painful pause. 

“Mean what?” asked Jane, trembling to 
think he might have actually caught her 
looking at the disfigurement of his hand. 

“Why, are you really glad to see me, 
Jane? Because you know what I have come 
for, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Jane, faintly. 
She said to herself, “If he proposes to me 


‘ JANE DID NOT DARE TO LOOK UP 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


175 



176 the: MIRACIvE at MARKHAM 

again I do not know how to refuse him.” 

“Because you know, Jane, I feel just the 
same that I always did. You have no idea 
how I dread to go back to Pyramid alone. 
A minister cannot do his work well unless 
he is married. Do I need to tell you again, 
Jane, that I love you with all the 
heart?” 

Jane did not dare look up. Her heart 
beat fast. A great conflict was going on 
in her. She fell that if once she looked 
up into Francis Ilandall’s pale, handsome 
face, she would not be able to say no to 
him again. 

He waited a moment for her to answer 
his question, and then slowly and delib- 
erately took up his chair and brought it 
over close to her and sat down. He did not 
offer to touch her, and something told 
Jane that he would never attempt even a 
lover’s caress until she had yielded her 
heart to him. But when he spoke again, 
she trembled at the thought of the man’s 
great-hearted love for her. 

“Jane, I cannot and I will not go back to 
Pyramid until I know whether you love 
me. You must tell me. Do you love, Jane, 
or not?” 

“I have told you I cannot marry a min- 
ister. I am not fitted for such a position.” 
Jane’s lips trembled and her voice was 
very low. 

“That is not my question,” said Francis 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


177 


Randall, firmly, and still Jane did not dare 
to look up at him. 

But something in his tone roused a feel- 
ing of resistance in Jaiie’s nature. And it 
was then that she uttered the words that 
caused her the bitterest regret of her 
whole life. We have all done the same 
thing at some time. 

“Ministers live such dull, self-sacrificing 
lives. I am tired of the shifts and expe- 
dients of a poor minister’s daughter. I 
could never make j^ou happy.” 

A great change came into Francis Ran- 
dall’s face. He clenched his hands on the 
chair, as if to keep himself from falling. 
The scar on his right hand stood out like 
a great birth mark. His large, soft eyes 
grew hard and the whole man stiffened as 
if in sudden resistance to a blow. 

He rose from his seat and stood directly 
in front of Jane. She seemed compelled 
to look up at him. 

“So you will not marry me because I am 
a poor minister? Is that it? It is not 
because I am in the church, but because 
I am not rich?” 

Jane would not answer, but her tongue 
seemed powerless. The unexpected dis- 
closure of her secret reason, which she had 
not even dared to acknowledge to herself, 
except at very rare moments, smote her 
heart with fear and shame. 

He waited a moment, and then said: 


178 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


“You have given me your answer.” Be- 
fore she could realize what he was doing, 
he had turned and walked swiftly out of 
the parlor into the hall. He opened the 
door and went out. 

Then Jane ran into the hall. As she ran, 
she cried out with a sob, “No, no, Fran- 
cis! 1 do love you!” She even had her 
hand on the door and was about to oj^en 
it, but a feeling of shame seized her and 
she went back into the parlor, and, throw- 
ing herself down on the couch, cried as 
she had not cried since she was a little girl. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A UNITED PLAN OF CAMPAIGN 

r is possible that if 
Francis Eandall had 
heard her he might 
have come back. But 
the man’s heart was 
sore buffeted within 
him, and he went out 
to Pyramid with a 
great sadness of soul, 
and as he took up the 
burdens of his rough 
parish, he groaned 
in spirit and asked 
himself if was worth while to make 
the struggle. For the love of his 

life seemed to be killed out of him, 
and nothing but his Christian faith now 
kept him true to the routine of duties 
that must be obeyed, whether his human 
heart was satisfied or not. It was one com- 
fort to him that his mother went with him 
to keep house for him temporarily. 

As for Jane, she confronted for the first 
time her real motive for refusing to marry 
Francis Eandall. The hideous fact that 
she was forced to face was doubly hideous 
to her, because she had thought to deceive 
herself for a long time by keeping it in the 
background. But had she given Francis 



l8o THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

Eandall her final answer? She loved him 
more than ever. Only that gaunt trouble- 
some thing, the poverty and meagerness 
of a poor minister’s house, seemed to thrust 
in between her heart’s longing and her 
lover’s persistence. 

Was he her lover any longer? Had she 
not murdered something there in the par- 
lor that afternoon? But other girls killed 
the same thing. She recalled several of 
her acquaintances who had married rich 
men for the money, the position, the social 
distinction. And they seemed happy. Did 
they successfully hide the skeleton at home 
when the public was not looking on? Her 
heart hungered for the love which she had 
turned away. And in the days that fol- 
lowed she went to her school with the 
tread mill pace of one who has seen heaven 
draw very near, and then vanish, with no 
hope or desire for the future. Ah! Jane! 
It is a terrible thing for a woman to try 
to put anything above the wealth of a 
good man’s love! Will you live to realize, 
even through bitterness of soul, what you 
have lost in killing the best and holiest 
feeling in a woman’s life? 

Ignorant of this tragedy in the heart life 
of two of its children, the town of Mark- 
ham awoke that winter, as the weeks went 
on, to the fact of a transformation taking 
place in its inner circle of conduct. 

The town had watched the union of the 


THB MIRACLE AT MARKHAM l8l 

Congregational and Presbyterian churches 
with an interest it had never before felt 
for anything, unless it was a private scan- 
dal or a public crime. Dimly, but surely, it 
was coming to be felt even by the city local 
politicians and unchristianlike men of 
Markham that a new force was present 
that somehow was to be reckoned with. 

The meetings begun at the time the two 
churches united, continued for three 
months, healthfully and steadily. When 
they closed, a series of cottage prayer meet- 
ings began, which afterwards developed into 
a force for bringing together nearly all the 
Christian workers of Markham. But be- 
fore that time came, Kev. John Procter and 
Hugh Cameron held a conference, at which 
certain plans were discussed which belong 
to the history of the Miracle at Markham. 

John Procter and Hugh Cameron were 
fast learning to love each other. The 
church people had voted to ask the two 
ministers to preach alternately on the 
Sabbabth. The question of how the two 
men could best serve the needs of the town 
had come up in a service held one Sunday 
evening. At that meeting Kev. John Proc- 
ter presented the following line of cam- 
paign, and it is not too much to say that 
it was listened to with unusual interest. 

“Brother Cameron and myself have coun- 
selled together very often about the best 
line for church work, and we wish to pre- 


i82 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


sent this outline for the action of the 
church. It all conies under the general 
head: 

“What can the churches of Markham do 
for the Christianizing of the town itself?” 

I. The Need of Markham. 

It may be summed up under five heads : 

(i.) The need of a united church. 

(2.) The need of a Christian Sabbath. 

(3.) The need of a combined attack by all Christian 
forces upon the saloon. 

(4.) The need of an evangelizing movement in the 
factory district. 

(5.) The need of a public voice to help these needed 
reforms in the shape of a local Christian paper. 

As to the first point: 

Certain things can be done. We advise 
the following plans for uniting the 
churches: 

(a) Secure the co-operation of all the 
churches in any common benevolent or re- 
form movement that is so universal in its 
appeal to mankind that Christian disciples 
can and will unite to do it, regardless of 
differences in creeds and customs. Such 
a work is Sunday reform in Markham. 
We are convinced that the churches of 
every denomination will unite in a move- 
ment for a better Sabbath in our own town. 

Another suggestion which we make along 
this line to unite the churches is an inter- 
denominational newspaper, that shall ad- 
vocate the reforms our town needs and 
give us what the Christians of all the 


THE MIRACEK AT MARKHAM 


183 


churches seem agreed we ought to have, 
and that is, a paper we are not ashamed 
to have come into our homes. The present 
is a very good time to organize such a 
paper, owing to the fact that one present 
daily paper is notoriously incompetent and 
bad from every point of view. 

Anolher suggestion for uniting the 
churches is the establishment of cottage 
prayer meetings in neighborhoods which 
contain members of different denomina- 
tions. 

Still another means of church union is 
opened to us in a combined effort to close 
the saloons in Markham. They are a 
common danger to every home. They are so 
recognized by the fathers and mothers in 
all the churches. We recommend a simple 
organization, which shall embrace every 
man who votes and every woman who 
prays and all who want to see the saloon 
outlawed, to come together and use every 
effort to rid Markham of this unmitigated 
evil. If the pastors and church members 
of all the denominations in Markham will 
thus unite to fight the common enemy of 
us all, we can have our way in this matter. 

(b) We suggest under the head of a 
Christian Sabbath that we study into the 
facts as they are today in Markham. That 
we pledge ourselves not to travel on Sun- 
day trains, abandon the regular habit of 
going after the Sunday mail or purchasing 


184 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

merchandise, and begin a study of ways 
and means to prevent all unnecessary 
labor in the town. 

(c) The need of abolishing the saloon 
has already been mentioned. We feel that 
this battle is distinctively the battle of the 
churches. If the Christian people, mem- 
bers of the churches, do not organize to 
kill this devil, who will? In Markham we 
have fifteen of these soul-destroying insti- 
tutions. They have cost us untold suffer- 
ing in the family life and immense sums of 
lnoneJ^ And yet the churches of Markham, 
without the help of a single other organiza- 
tion, could make the saloon outlaw if they 
would only act together. 

(d) As to the factory district: There 
is a feeble mission work now established 
there b}* the Methodists. Hut what is 
needed is the general pouring of a large 
arm.y of Christian workers into that part of 
the city; with a steady, intelligent study 
of whatever conditions are wrong there, 
so that they can be righted. To do this 
will require a united Christian sentiment 
in Markham. We are prepared at some 
near future time to propose a plan to the 
other churches which we will submit to 
them in a mass meeting called for the pur- 
pose. 

(e) Lastly, as to the Christian newspa- 
per which JSIarkham needs. 

No one denies our need of it. The only 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 185 


question is one largely of expense. But 
Markham has an aggregate attendance in 
its twelve churches of 1,500 people. Add to 
these a large number of business men who 
are not church members, but who would be 
glad to see a good paper in Markham, and 
we could easily count on from 2,000 to 2,500 
subscribers in the town and county of a 
wide-awake, pure, clean, intelligent news- 
paper. 

We believe there is enough intelligence, 
wealth and power in our combined 
churches to establish such a paper. A par- 
tial canvass has already been made by 
Brother Cameron and myself, and we be- 
lieve the necessary money can be obtained 
to put such a paper as we need into the 
homes of Markham. It would be a paper 
owned and controlled by the Christian peo- 
ple of the town. It would be non-partisan 
in municipal affairs. In national politics 
it would be the aim to give, in different 
columns, a fair and Christian view of the 
great questions upon which the best men 
in the different parties differ, with a view 
to influencing the citizens to that course 
which will benefit the whole nation. 

There are serious difficulties in the way 
of such a paper. There are also serious 
difficulties in living generally. At the 
same time most of us want to keep on liv- 
ing and succeed in doing so. Such a paper 
as we have suggested will not be perfect. 


i86 the: miraci,^ at markham 


It will be edited and published by weak, 
imperfect men and women, not by angels. 
But there is no question about our need of 
a good paper in Markham, and we believe 
we can have one in this way. As we look 
at it, such a paper will do a wonderful 
service in uniting the churches and voic- 
ing the public opinion in the matter of the 
town’s needed reforms. 

This outline of plan of campaign for 
church work was vigorously discussed by 
the Union Church. Committees were ap- 
pointed for the various kinds of work, and 
great enthusiasm shown. No fea:turc of 
the plan called out greater enthusiasm than 
the proposed Christian paper. The peo- 
ple of Markham had suffered long from a 
pronounced whiskj'' organ. Even the busi- 
ness men, who voted for license, were dis- 
gusted wdth the local paper. Many of them 
w’^ere read 3'^ to support something better, 
and although the new movement was so 
radical and novel, there seemed great hopes 
of its being realized. When John Procter 
and Hugh Cameron went home that night 
they had for almost the first time in their 
lives a passionate faith in overturning the 
devil’s reign in Markhom. 

Out in Pyramid that winter, Francis 
Pandall, far from the glow of any relig- 
ious enthusiasm, such as now began to 
light up the church in Markham, fought 
his way through his parish duties like a 


THIi MIRACIvE; ax MARKHAM 


1*7 





“I DON’T CARE TO GO TO MARKHAM. 



Ib8 XH^ miraci^e; at markham 

man stricken with disease of all his facul- 
ties. 

William was quick to notice the change 
in his friend. They were friends now, for 
William knew what he owed the young 
El^iscopal clergyman. He noted with re- 
gret the change in the once elastic step and 
buoyant bearing, and wondered at its 
cause, but the friendship of the two -men 
had never gone so far as a mutual exchange - 
of confidence in their love affairs. 

It was one evening, about two months 
after Francis’ return to Pyramid that he 
came into William’s room, where he was 
still convalescing and beginning to think 
of getting to w'ork again. Randall had a 
letter in his hand. 

“Read that,” He said, briefly. William 
read, and exclaimed in wonder: 

“Why, they want you to come to Grace 
Cathedral! Your father’s old church in 
Markham!” 

“Yes, the Bishop wants me to take a 
place under tHe new Dean. The congre- 
gation has asked for me.”’ 

“Of course you will go?” asked William, 
feeling at the same time a pang of loneli- 
ness at the thought of Randall leaving 
Pyramid. 

“I don’t know,” replied Randall slowly, 
as he turned a log of wood over in the 
open fire place before which they were 
sitting. “I don’t think I shall. I don’t 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 1 89 


care to go to Markham.” And he was 
very quiet after that. The fire from the 
logs threw strange shadows upon Francis 
Randall’s face, but the real shadow was 
on his heart, and he wondered if it ever- 
would be chased away by the light of love 
again. 


CHAPTER XV. 

BACK TO MAKKHAM. 



ywO months after Francis 
Eandall had said to Wil- 
liam Procter that he did 
not think he would go to 
Markham and take a 
place in the Cathedral 
under the new Dean, 
Eev. John Procter came 
into the jDarsonage one 
evening just before tea time and surprised 
Mrs. Procter and Jane by saying: 

“I just met Dean Murray. He says Fran- 
cis Eandall has written accepting the posi- 
tion in the Cathedral, and expects to leave - 
Pyramid when his year there is up, about 
Christmas.” 

‘Jane was standing by the table when her 
father spoke. During those dreary weeks 
which followed Francis Eandall’s departure 
from ]\Iarkham, she had gone about her 
school duties stubbornly but without any 
heart in them. 

The anouncement of Eandall’s proposed 
return to Markham affected her, at first in 
a way for which she was not prepared. 

She could feel her heart beating fast, and 
her mind was confused as to what her lov- 
er’s return might mean to her. She want- 
ed to ask her father a question, but dared 


TH]S MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM I91 

not trust her voice to do so, and her mother 
spoke at that moment, as Jane turned from 
the table and slowly walked into the 
kitchen. 

“What place will he hold under Dean 
Murray?” 

“He is to help in the parish work, I be- 
lieve,” replied John Procter. Then he ad- 
ded in a low voice, although Jane had shut 
the kitchen door when she went out. 

“Eliza, I am sorry that Kandall is coming 
here. I am sure it means trouble for Jane. 
She has not been the same girl since the 
Dean’s death. I mean since young Kandall 
was last here. Has she confided in you?” 

“No,” replied Mrs. Procter, with a sigh. 
“There is something Jane will not tell me. 
I know she loves Francis Kandall, and 
something has happened to make her 
wretched. But she has not told me what it 
is.” 

And in fact, at that moment Jane was 
saying to herself out in the kitchen as she 
tried to crowd back the tears that would 
come in spite of her, “I am sorry he is 
coming. How can I bear to meet him, 
after what has happened.” 

In this disturbed and unhappy condition 
of mind, she awaited with dread Francis 
Kandall’s arrival. 

Meanwhile, he was having a revulsion of 
feeling concerning his first determination 
not to go to Markham. 


192 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


He had thought the matter out fully, OAud 
at last decided to accept the call to Grace 
Cathedral. 

Several motives urged him to this course. 
The new Dean was a man who had known 
and sympathized with Dean Randall. The 
death of Randall has caused a change of 
sentiment throughout the parish. A man 
of the Dean’s views was not unwelcome as 
a successor. Francis Randall knew enough 
about him to be sure that so far as work- 
ing out the problem of church union was 
concerned, Dean Murray would not stand 
in the way of any reasonable attempts. 

But the ruling motive that influenced 
Francis Randall, was a personal desire to 
face the very worst and live it down, or as 
he sadly said to himself, live it up. If he 
returned to Markham and met Jane Proc- 
ter, he might grow, in time, to realize that 
the loss of her out of his life was not so 
great as now he felt it to be. At a distance 
he lived over and over the possibilities that 
once he lived upon in hope. “But if this 
woman really had refused to be his wife 
because he was poor, her character was 
not the one that would help him in his life 
work. She was not worthy of the place he 
had been giving her in his thought. If she 
really put money before love, she — ” 

He did not go on to argue much, but the 
whole matter finally resolved itself into a 
determination to go back to Markham and 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


193 


see if the chance of constantly seeing Jane 
Procter would not, after all, in time prove 
to be his salvation. If the love he had had 
for her was going to survive the shock of 
that last interview with her, his life 
work was practically at an end. In any 
case he was so restless and unhappy in his 
work at Pyramid, that he felt that his use- 
fulness there was almost gone. 

When he had finally made up his mind, he 
told William; 

“I’m going back to Markham, after all,” 
he said one evening as they were again 
seated in front of the fire. 

William looked at him wistfully, and at 
last he said: 

“Of course I don’t blame you to want a 
better place than this. Markham and 
Grace Cathedral are not exactly Pyramid.” 

“It isn’t just that,” replied Eandall, 
slowly. “But the fact is, I have lost my 
interest in this work out here. I want to 
say to you, Procter, that I — I, — well, never 
mind, — I I can’t tell you — but I feel the 
need of a change, and that’s the reason I’m 
going to Markham.” 

William did not ask any questions. A 
recent letter from his mother had revealed 
a part of Jane’s story, not all, and Wil- 
liam knew something of the cause for Ean- 
d all’s depression. He did not dare to ob- 
trude or ask the other man for the con- 
fidence he withheld. And, in fact, Randall 


194 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


could not confide the truth to any one, 
least of all to Jane’s brother. 

When the time came for Francis’ depart- 
ure, Pyramid realized what it was about to 
lose. William Procter felt deeper than 
others. 

“You’ll have to take up my fight against 
the gambling dens, Procter,” said Eandall, 
as he walked over to the station the day he 
finally left. He spoke with a sad smile, 
and somewhat lightly, but he had no idea 
that his words carried any weight with 
them, or were really taken in earnest b^^ 
his friend. 

But when Francis Eandall had gone, and 
William turned back to his little room and 
remembered that he was to resume his 
mill duties the next day, he was unable to 
shake off the impression that, somehow, in 
some way, he was responsible for a part of 
Pyramid’s moral life. 

With the conviction that he would, some- 
how, be carried, in spite of himself, into 
the fight that Eandall had begun, he 
walked into the mill the next day. It was 
not without a curious blending of emotions 
that he stopped at the entrance of the mix- 
ing room and looked again upon the place 
where he had so nearly met his death. In 
a growing seriousness the assistant super- 
intendent of the Golconda mill resumed his 
duties. And ever, that day, two voices 
called to him. The voice of duty to the 


s 


THE MIR ACTE AT MARKHAM 1 95 

camp which had lost its greatest-hearted 
champion of truth* and right, and the voice 
of his love for that far-distant life that in 
the study of the Professor of Old Testa- 
ment Literature at Andover, had bowed 
her haughty head over the manuscript of 
the Minor Prophets and cried for the hun- 
ger of a heart that could be satisfied \wth 
nothing less than love itself. 

The week before Christmas, John Proc- 
ter said, one evening, as he came in from 
his work: 

“I met Francis Eandall today. He has 
just come.” 

“How is he looking?” Mrs. Procter asked 
the question, while Jane made a miserable 
effort to appear unconcerned, as she went 
on with some piece of sewing. But her 
fingers trembled and her face flushed. 

“Why, I think he looks about the same,” 
replied John Procter. “I only saw him 
for a moment.” 

That was about all that was said, but the 
next morning when Jane started to go to 
school, she faced the possibility of meeting 
Francis Eandall on the street, with a ner- 
vous feeling of dread that would have been 
absurd if it had not been so sadly tragic 
for her. 

She usually walked past the Cathedral on 
her way to school. It was the shortest 
way. But this morning she went several 
blocks out of the way and felt relieved 


196 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

when no tall figure wearing the Episcopal 
dress, appeared. And it was several days 
before she met Francis Eandall, and then 
it happened so suddenly that she had no 
time to determine what she should do. 

It was one afternoon, as she stepped out 
of the school-room after the day’s work 
was done. She was tired and nervous, and 
had a headache. But that was nothing to 
the heartache that hurt her now every day. 

The children were swarming all about 
her, and she was walking slowly. Sud- 
denly Francis Randall turned the corner 
and passed her. 

As he went by, he lifted his hat. Jane 
had wondered, several times, whether he 
would cut her entirely. But he was too 
much of a gentleman to do that, and, be- 
sides, had he not once loved her with all 
his heart? Jane knew that he had looked 
at her as he went by. She had lifted her 
eyes to him long enough to be able to say 
to herself, afterwards, “he is very pale and 
stern.” But he had walked straight on, 
and without the slightest hesitation. 

So that was the way they were to meet, 
hereafter? Simply as bowing acquaint- 
ances? Jane had a momentary feeling of 
relief, that she knew now what to expect. 
At the same time she cried harder that 
night than at any time since her last talk 
with him. 

As for Francis Randall, he neither avoid- 


THE MIRACEEi AT MARKHAM 1 97 


ed nor sought any opportunity for seeing 
Jane that winter. As a matter of fact, 
they did meet at a few social gatherings, 
but at none of them did they ever exchange 
a word. Francis Eandall went out very lit- 
tle. He was engaged upon a work which 
occupied nearly every evening, and it was 
only when his church duties compelled 
him, that he appeared in public. It soon 
began to be rumored in Markham that the 
popular assistant to the Dean was writing 
a book, but what it was, whether history or 
religion or a love story, no one seemed to 
know. 

It is quite certain that never in all its re- 
ligious history, had Markham experienced 
such a change in its church life from the 
time Francis Randall entered the Grace 
Cathedral parish. Whatever may have been 
the depth of his personal disappointment, 
the hunger and restlessness of his heart, 
there was no question as to his willingness 
to help make the union of the churches in 
Markham a reality. 

John Procter and Hugh Cameron soon 
discovered that an added force had entered 
Markham with the coming of Eandall. He 
was heartily in sympathy with the outline 
of work proposed along the line of Sunday 
reform, the movement against the saloon, 
and the Christian paper owned and con- 
trolled by the churches. 

At a meeting where the three ministers 


198 THE MIRACEK AT MARKHAM 

met to discuss these plans, Francis Ran- 
dall volunteered to make a personal can- 
vass of the town to know what the facts 
were concerning- Sunday desecration. 

He made his canvass thoroughly, and pre- 
sented it personally to each one of the min- 
isters of Markham. Perhaps his inteiwiew’ 
with Rev. Lawrence Brown, of the Metho- 
dist Church, will illustrate, as well as any, 
the general method that Randall employed 
to bring the churches together on the Sun- 
day question. 

The Rev. Lawrence Brown had been de- 
scribed by John Procter in the little bio- 
graphical sketch of him, as a narrow-mind- 
ed zealous Methodist, even to the extent of 
being discourteous to the other denom- 
inations. When he was assigned to Mark- 
ham, as pastor of the First Methodist 
Church, he had found an Endeavor Society 
organized among his young people, work- 
ing harmoniously with the other Endeavor 
Societies. He had at once re-organized the 
young people into an Epworth League, and 
changed the night of their meeting. They 
were now working entirely by themselves, 
using different subjects and plans in their 
meetings, and were entirely out of touch 
with all the other young people’s church 
societies. 

All this, Francis Randall knew more or 
less exactly, when he called to see the 
Methodist minister. But he went with the 


YOU ARE QUITE RIGHT,’ SAID THE REV. LAWRENCE BROWN 


the; miraceh at markham 


199 



200 


THE MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


one great purpose of ignoring all this, and 
seeing if there was not a common meeting 
ground for all the denominations on the 
better observance of the Lord’s Day. 

“You see, Brother Brown,” said Francis 
Bandall, after he had explained the rea- 
son for his call, “Markham is really in a 
serious condition. Every cigar and fruit 
store in town is open all day, baseball 
games are frequent, excursion trains stop 
here on their way to the Lake, and the 
theatre is beginning to give Sunday even- 
ing shows of a very cheap and vulgar kind. 

“Now, the question with us ministers 
ought to be, how can we prevent the dese- 
cration of the Lord’s Day? There is 
another fact in connection with the sub- 
ject. A great many of our church mem- 
bers are the very ones who encourage the 
Sunday desecration the most. One of the 
fast paper trains that leaves the east at 2 
o’clock Sunday morning, brings a Sunday 
morning paper to Markham one honr be- 
fore the regular time for church service. 
Hundreds of our chuch members buy these 
papers, and at once begin to read them be- 
fore they go to church. In what condi- 
tion of mind and heart are they to wel- 
come spiritual truth when their minds are 
filled with the same subjects which have 
filled them during the whole week, poli- 
tics, sport, gossip, crime, scandal, and all 
the rest of the vast mass of material that 


THE miracle at MARKHAM 


201 


goes into the Sunday paper and unfits a 
man for religious truth? 

“Again, our church members are the 
very ones who compel the postoffice to re- 
main open on Sunday. Immediately after 
the close of church services, our people 
fiock over to the postoffice. The business 
men open, read, and many of them answer 
the business letters they get, on Sunday. 
Meanwhile, our postmaster and two clerks 
are unable to attend church, because they 
must look after the selfish desires of our 
church members who insist on having the 
office open on Sunday, in order that their 
curiosity as to mail may be satisfied. 

“Don’t you think. Brother Brown, that 
the sermon of the modern minister is in 
between the upper and the nether mill- 
stone, the Sunday paper before it, and the 
mail after it? It makes a very poor sort of 
Sunday sandwich for religious nourish- 
ment. And it does seem as if we must be- 
gin to do something, or Markham will be- 
come a place where the Sabbath will be 
utterly held in contempt, and we shall in- 
evitably be punished by God as the Jews 
were when they, as a nation, profaned the 
command to keep the day holy.” 

“I believe you are entirely right in the 
matter!” replied the Eev. Lawrence Brown, 
with an emphasis that astonished Francis 
Bandall. 

But in point of fact, the astonishment 


202 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


was on the other side, also. The Methodist 
pastor asked himself several times, while 
Kandall was speaking*, “When did an Epis- 
copal clergyman ever before call on me, or 
call me brother?” There was something 
very winning in Eandall’s manner. The 
Methodist man, a plodding, over-worked 
man, poorly paid, not very broadly edu- 
cated, but sincere and lionest according to 
his views, felt a little flattered by this 
interview with this brilliant young Episco- 
pal clergyman who had already written a 
number of short stories, and was said to be 
at work on a book. He had an awe of an 
author. And Francis Eandall’s unaffected, 
simple, hearty manner, so free from church- 
ly superiority, really made a strong im- 
pression upon him. 

“What will you do in connection with the 
other ministers, about this Sunday ques- 
tion?” asked Francis, after the other man 
had expressed himself so heartily. 

“Why, what would you suggest?” asked 
Mr. Brown, cautiously, but willingly. 

“Will you preach a series of sermons on 
Sunday observance, to begin with?” 

“Yes, gladly.” 

“Will you ask your congregation to vote 
to send a petition to the town council to 
pass an ordinance forbidding baseball, 
Sunday theatres and the like?” 

“Yes, I’ll do that.” 

“Will you urge j’-our business men not to 


the; miracte at markham , 203 

read the Sunday morning* papers, and wait 
for their mail until Monday morning?” 

The Eev. Lawrence Brown hesitated be- 
fore he answered this question. There 
were several business men in his church 
that would not take such an exhortation 
as that kindly. But whatever other faults 
the Methodist pastor had, he was not 
wanting in the genuine courage of his 
convictions. 

“Yes, I am ready to do that,” he said, at 
last. “At least, I am ready to exhort them 
to give up those habits. I have my doubts 
about any of them paying any attention to 
my requests, however.” 

“That is another matter,” replied Fran- 
cis Eandall, with a sad smile. He stayed 
a little longer, and finally went away with 
the feeling that so far as the pastor of the 
Methodist Church was concerned, he would 
meet with the other pastors of Markham 
on the Sunday question. 


■ ■ i a,: . ' 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH FATHER MORRIS. 

T H the encouragement 
which this interview 
brought to him, he pro- 
ceeded to call upon every 
other pastor in Markham, 
and found that every one of 
them was practically of the 
same opinion in regard to 
the necessity for a better Sunday. All of 
them, with the exception of the Adventist 
brother, agreed to do what Kandall asked, 
and even he declared that he would not 
hinder any movement for the better life 
of Markham. 

When he had completed his round of the 
churches, Eandall reported to John Procter 
and Hugh Cameron. 

“The fact is,” he said, after they had dis- 
cussed the matter, “the Sunday question, as 
it is at present in Markham, is one of the 
large planks upon which all the denomina- 
tions can and will stand. There is practi- 
cal unanimity among the churches as to 
the need of taking action together. It is 
a common danger to religious life, and re- 
quires a common effort against it.” 

“How about Father Morris?” asked Hugh 
Cameron, suddenly. 

“What! The Catholic priest?” asked 



the: MIRACI^E at MARKHAM 


205 


Francis Ilandall, starting and looking 
earnestly at the I’resbyterian minister. 

“I hadn’t thought of him,” said John 
Procter, gravely. They were all three si- 
lent a moment. Never in all the history of 
Markham, had the Catholic priest taken 
any part with any other church, in any 
capacity. 

“Do you know Father Morris?” asked 
Hugh Cameron, turning to Kandall. 

“My father knew him quite well. He 
once did Morris a great favor. Mother 
mentioned it the other day. I’ll go and see 
him, if you say so, and find out if he will 
act with us on the Sunday reform plan.” 

“It will not do any harm, and may do 
much good,” said John Procter, thought- 
fully. “He has a large influence over some 
of the factory" people.” 

“I’ll go and see him,” said Eandall, as he 
went away. He did not find time to make 
the call until Saturday of that week, and 
he approached the priest’s house and an- 
ticipated the interview with him in a spirit 
of greater curiosity and excitement than 
he had felt for a long time. 

When he was asked, by a servant, to come 
in and take a seat in the stuffy little parlor 
which was the priest’s reception room, he 
felt strangely embarrassed by his sur- 
roundings. 

There was a plaster paris figure of Christ 
on the cross, immediately over his head on 


2o6 


THE MIRACEE ax MARKHAM 


the wall, and another smaller one of ivory 
on a bracket opposite the place where he 
sat. Two or three dusty medallions repre- 
senting different saints, and a picture of 
Mary, hung on the wall at the end of the 
room, over a small cabinet of books. The 
priest’s house was built on the side wall of 
the church, i rancis Kandall, sitting there 
waiting for Father Morris, could hear the 
organ. It was the best organ in Mark- 
ham. Its deep pedal notes vibrated through 
the building, and the little parlor trembled 
with the music, which was an old Gregor- 
ian chant. 

Francis Eandall waited some time before 
the priest appeared. When he finally came 
into the parlor, Francis rose and faced him, 
and even in the short time before either 
man spoke, he rapidly traced the features 
of the priest, and tried to form some es- 
timate of his probable action in the Sun- 
day question. 

Father Morris was clean-shaven like all 
priests. That was a part of his creed. He 
wore the dress of the Catholic Church, and 
round his neck a slender gold chain, at the 
end of which, near his waist, hung a small 
white cross. His face was pale, but when 
he smiled, which was seldom, it became an- 
imated, and even dignified. The opposite is 
true of most faces. He was a small man, 
and by the side of Randall he seemed even 
smaller. 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


207 


He came slowly into the parlor and Fran- 
cis waited for him to speak. 

“Pardon me, I did not understand from 
the servant the name?” the priest said with 
a stiifness which Randall could not tell 
whether habitual or suited to his feelings 
at the time. 

“Randall, Rev. Francis Randall. I am 
Dean Murray’s assistant, at Grace Cathe-* 
dral. You knew my father, the Dean, 
though I believe we have never happened to 
meet before.” 

“Oh!” the priest said it with a swift and 
almost suspicious look at Randall. “Will 
you be seated? Yes, I knew your father, 
quite well.” 

He stopped suddenly, as if he had broken 
oif a sentence in his mind, and Randall sat 
looking at him in some perplexity as to 
how he should explain his errand. The 
man’s attitude w’as not repellant, but, on 
the other hand, neither was it in- 
viting. 

“I have come on a somewhat singular 
errand. Father Morris,” he began, slowly. 
“But I feel sure you will listen to it kindly, 
when I tell you that your church will be the 
gainer by what I want to propose to you, 
now.” 

Again that look of suspicion crossed the 
priest’s face, and he looked at Randall, 
doubtfully. 

“It is with reference to the money your 


208 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

father, the Dean, loaned me several years 
ago?” 

It was Francis Randall’s turn to look 
surprised. He knew that his father had 
helped the priest at a time of peculiar 
difficulty in Father Morris’ affairs. There 
were no papers recording the transaction, 
except a memorandum of the Dean’s which 
Francis and his mother had found several 
days after the Dean’s death. Francis did 
not know the singular circumstances under 
which the priest obtained the money, nor 
how far the acquaintance between his 
father and the priest had passed. He only 
knew the amount of the loan was large, and 
had never been paid back. 

“No, I did not come to see you about 
that,” he said, frankly, looking directly at 
the priest. “My father had no record, 
other than a statement of the fact.” 

Father Morris looked a little uneasily at 
Randall. Then his face cleared, and he 
seemed to show, for the first time, his real 
nature underneath the Catholic dress and 
the chain and cross. 

“Mr. Randall,” he said with a sincerity 
which no one could doubt was genuine, 
“years ago your father made me his grate- 
ful debtor by the loan of a sum of money 
which, to the best of my knowledge, saved 
my old mother and two sisters in Limerick, 
from starving. It was during the famine 
of ’76. That money has been saved during 


the; miracte; at markham 209 


all these years, and I now have nearly the 
entire sum and will pay it back to you 
within a year.” 

The priest suddenly g-rew very grave, and 
his voice sounded far off. The organ notes 
pulsed softly through the wall. 

Francis Kandall looked at the man in 
astonishment. There was more here than 
appeared on the surface. But the priesFs 
story was evidently told. All, at least, that 
he was ready to tell. 

“It was not the money. I appreciate your 
effort to repay it. When the time comes, 
perhaps you will let me know more?” Fran- 
cis asked with a gentle courtesy that took 
account of the fact that here in the stuffy 
little parlor was some romance, some hu- 
man tragedy that he had no right, as yet, 
to probe into. 

“Yes, perhaps,” again the priest’s tone 
was doubtful. But Bandall thought it was 
relieved by a note of personal sadness. 

“I will come at once to my errand with 
you,” he said, and he was still absolutely 
in the dark as to Father Morris’ probable 
action. 

He went on rapidly to tell of the action 
already taken by the other ministers and 
churches, and ended by saying very 
frankly: 

“Now, brother,” (Eandall unconsciously 
used the term in his great interest for the 
subject), “will you throw the weight of 


210 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


your influence in your church for a better 
Sunday in Markham? Will you preach on 
the subject?” 

It was a signiflcant pause that followed. 
Kandall was wondering if Father Morris 
hesitated because he did not want to seem 
to take directions for church work from a 
man of another church outside of the 
Catholic. 

“Yes, I am willing to do that,” the an- 
swer came at last, slowly. “Of course, you 
understand, Mr. Randall, we do not hold to 
the strict interpretation of Sunday, that 
prevails in many Protestant com- 
munions?” 

“I have to confess my ignorance largely 
of your views,” replied Randall with a 
smile. 

“It makes no difference. I will under- 
take to make my people see the needs of 
which you speak. There is no question 
that many of them are foolishly spending 
their time and money in Sunday amuse- 
ments.” 

Francis felt that his point had been 
gained, but he ventured one more step. 

“Father Morris, when the other church- 
es begin very soon, as they are planning to 
do, a campaign against the saloon in Mark- 
ham, will you and your church join us in 
that fight?” 

The change that swept over the priest’s 
face was startling. The lower jaw stif- 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


2II 


fened, the hands clenched tight on the arms 
of the chair, and the emphasis of his reply 
left nothing to be desired on Randall’s 
part. 

“So help me God, Randall, I v/ill join you 
or any other man in common cause against 
the drink traffic. Have I not been for years 
l^leading with my people to let the stuff 
alone? Yet not even the i^ower of the 
Catholic Church has availed here in this 
town, to stay this sin. Is your Protestant 
church guiltless of sin in the matter of 
licensing and supporting the saloon?” 

“No, to our shame be it said,” replied 
Randall. He was simply astonished at the 
priest’s answer. 

He went out on the street in a conflict 
of emotions. The interview had surprised 
him. There was more in Father Morris 
than he had supposed. Connected with 
the loan of the money was some tragic 
occurrence deeper even than the one men- 
tioned by the priest. The effort he had 
been making all these years to pay the 
money back, proved him to be honest. But 
the flnal decision concerning both the Sun- 
day and the temperance questions, stirred 
Francis Randall and John Procter and 
Hugh Cameron to greater hopefulness 
They began to see something now of the 
dawn of new days for Markham. 

It was during the days that followed, 
stirring days for Markham, as all the 


212 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


churches began the campaign for a better 
Sunday, that an incident in the experience 
of William Procter must be noted, because 
of its ultimate bearing on all the events 
that belonged to “The Miracle at Mark- 
ham.” 

Miss Rebecca Phillips sat in the room 
next to her father’s study one winter 
evening, trying to read a recent novel. 

The professor was in his study, still 
laboring over Eis notes for the volume on 
the Minor Prophets. 

It was a wild winter night in Andover. 
The snow lay very deep on the hill, and 
the wind was tossing the branches of the 
great elms out in front of the Seminary 
buildings. 

The evening mail was late. But at last 
the Academy boy who carried it to the 
professors’ houses, rang the bell, and Re- 
becca answered it. 

She came back into the sitting room with 
a paper. There were no letters. 

The postmark was Markham, O. The 
hand-writing was Jane Procter’s. 

Rebecca sat down in front of the open 
fire-place and slowly tore off the wrapper 
and unfolded the paper. 

It was The Pyramid Miner, and dated 
only a few days back. 

She turned at once to the article in the 
paper that was marked, and read the fol- 
lowing: 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


213 


William Procter, who has been assistant su- 
perintendent of the Golconda, Sewell’s Mill, has 
given up his position there, and taken to 
preaching. 

Rebecca stared at the sentence hard, and 
read it again. But there was more. 

There has been some trouble at the Gol- 
conda between Procter and Sewell. Procter 
was one of Rev. Francis Randall’s friends, 
as was natural, seeing Randall saved his life 
at the time of Procter’s accident. The cam- 
paign begun by Rev. Randall against the 
gambling dens of Pyramid, stopped when the 
reverend gentleman had a call to his father’s 
old church in Ohio. William Procter, who 
once was a theological student, and expected 
to enter the ministry, has taken up his old 
fight and begun a series of meetings in Mason’s 
Hall. So far, they have been crowded. He 
has, to our mind, undertaken a big job. But 
he seems to have grit and nerve. We say, let 
him have fair play, and may the best man 
win. 

The paper’s almost brutal indifference to 
the results did not, at first, touch Rebecca’s 
mind. She was sorely agitated by the fact 
that William was acutally preaching. Un- 
der what conditions and difficulties, she 
could only vaguely guess. But the old 
quarrel w^hich had resulted in the breaking 
of her engagement, seemed to her, under 
this new movement, to be insufficient. She 
had judged William Procter hastily when 
he decided to give up the ministry. She 
had judged him to be lacking in strength 
of decision. And she had a horror of 


214 


THK MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 


vacillating characters. But she had never 
ceased to love £im. Would this action on 
William’s part make possible their union 
some time? 

She did not take the paper in to show her 
father. But she sat by the fire a long time 
with her hands folded on her lap. The 
-professor’s pen scratched away on the 
manuscript. The wind roared over the hill. 
And Rebecca Phillips looked into the fire 
and wondered if the future would bring to 
her again the joy that once she knew. 

That same winter brought “To Francis 
Randall, also, an experience which shaped 
his work and decided, in a large measure, 
his future. 

He had never been so busy. The grow- 
ing union of the churches in Markham had 
given him an opportunity to use his powers 
in a great variety of ways. He had plunged 
into his work of church union with a tre- 
mendous energy that helped him, so he 
thought, to forget Jane Procter. Tn real- 
ity, he never forgot her. He saw her sel- 
dom. But deep down in his heart the old 
fire burned. Tt would not go out, and all 
his struggles did not suffice to quench it. 

There were, however, times when he grew 
absorbed in his writing. Tt was true that 
he was writing a book. Tt was one more 
attempt on his part to satisfy his ambition 
for mental relief. How far he had suc- 
ceeded with the book he could not tell. He 


CAN EVEN YOUR MOTHER COMFORT 


THK MIRACI<K AT MARKHAM 


215 



2i6 


MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


had never written a long story. He was 
very timid of pronouncing judgment on his 
own work. 

But the book had proved to be absorb- 
ing at the time of its writing, at least, and 
one night he finished it. It was a novel of 
purpose. He had grown to love his charac- 
ters, and with a regret that was excusable, 
he wrote the last sentence and after a 
fashion said good-by to the hero and hero- 
ine whom he had happily married after a 
long and difficult series of situations. 

He was sitting in his little room, and be- 
ginning to wonder if any publisher would 
accept the book, and if so, whether the 
public w^ould find it worth reading, when 
his mother knocked at the door. 

“My dear,” she said, as Francis rose and 
opened the door and insisted on her com- 
ing in and taking the one easy chair in the 
room, “have you heard the news from Mr. 
Procter’s?” 

“No’, mother,” Francis answered, and a 
sudden fear clutched at his heart, and he 
turned cold and trembling. 

“Your father’s old friend. Dr. Gilbert, 
just stopped to say that Jane is very ill 
•with typhoid. A sudden and serious case. 
Francis, my heart aches for you! Can 
even your mother comfort you?” 

“No,” replied Francis Pandall. He looked 
with dull eyes at his book, which he had 
just finished, and then at his mother, and 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


217 


his heart reproached him. Of what value 
was his book to him now? Or anything 
else? 

“I did not mean that, mother,” he said 
after a pause. Then he sat down sudden- 
ly, and put his head between his hands. 
He rose and liis mother was near him. He 
kissed her, but did not say a word. He 
went out into the hall. It was then 10 
o’clock. A great snow-storm was begin- 
ning. He put on his coat and hat. 

“I’m going over to John Procter’s to in- 
quire,” he said; and went out into the 
storm,. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A MESSAGE FOR JANE. 


HEN Francis shut the 
door of his house and 
started through that 
gathering snow-storm 
towards John Proc- 
ter’s, the tumult in 
his heart and mind 
was far greater than 
the physical tempest 
that howled around 
him. Fight against 
the feeling as he 
might, he knew that 
he still loved Jane. The news of her sud- 
den and serious illness gripped his heart 
with a violence that emphasized the slum- 
bering passion of his life, and told him, 
that right or wrong’, he had not been able 
to shut her out as unworthy. 

Had he misjudged her? He had given 
her no chance to reply to him or defend 
herself from the charge that he had made, 
the charge that it was because he was poor 
that she would not marry him. How did 
he know, after all, that she had not spoken 
that one sentence thoughtlessly without 
really meaning it? And yet he had con- 
demned her swiftly, at once, and without 
leaving her any possible opportunity to de- 



THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


219 


fend herself. Had not her pale face told 
of an inward sulfering- that day he met her, 
as she was coming out of school? Might 
she not love him in spite of herself, and be 
happy with him yet, in spite of — 

He staggered through the storm with 
no definite idea about what he would do 
when he reached John Procter’s. He was 
possessed with a terrible fear that this 
woman whom he had never ceased to love, 
was dying, and that he had done her an in- 
justice and perhaps missed the happiness 
that might have been his with a little more 
patience, a little more forbearance. 

The light was burning in John Procter’s 
study. Kandall went to the side door and 
knocked. 

John Procter opened the door, and at 
sight of Kandall he uttered an exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

Kandall spoke: “I heard that Jane was 
very ill — I came to inquire — ” 

“Come in,” said Procter, who understood 
at once the situation. 

Kandall entered the study, and at once 
sat down, and as he had done when his 
mother announced the news, he put his 
head between his hands for a moment. He 
then looked up and spoke steadily, looking 
John Procter full in the face. 

“I hardly need to tell you, Mr. Procter, 
that I have loved Jane for several years. 
You must know, also, that there has been 


220 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


a misunderstanding’ between us. I find 
that it has not changed my feelings.' The 
news that she was dangerously ill — ” 

“She is dangerously ill,” repeated John 
Procter very gravely. 

“Perhaps likely to die — ” continued Kan- 
dall with a great effort. 

“Likely to die,” repeated John Procter, 
shading his eyes from the light of the 
fire. 

“Brought me over here tonight. I 
don’t know that 1 can do anything — ” went 
on Kandall, desperately. “But I had to 
come. Is there no hope?” 

“The doctor says there is some hope.” 

But John Procter spoke without hope, 
himself, and Francis Randall was quick to 
note his tone. 

There was silence between the two men. 
The storm outside had increased steadily 
in violence. 

Mrs. Procter suddenly came into the 
study. She greeted Francis without much 
surprise. Indeed, the mother knew every- 
thing, at least, all except Jane’s miserable 
secret about that last interview with her 
lover. Already in her delirium Jane had 
said more than once, “I DO love you, 
Francis!” and her mother knew she was 
going over the whole scene again. 

“Jane has been working very hard in 
school, lately,” said Mrs. Procter, in an- 
swer to some question which Kandall in- 


I'HE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


221 


voluntarily asked. “When the break-down 
came at last, it was very sudden.” 

John Procter had slipped out of the room. 
Francis rose and Mrs. Procter held out both 
her hands to him. He took them and told 
her what he had told John Procter, and 
more. Only, he could not tell quite all. 
That seemed like Jane’s secret. 

Mrs. Procter tried to comfort him. But 
she was honestly in great perplexity. The 
probability of Jane’s death increased, 
rather than lessened her doubt as to what 
she ought to reveal of Jane’s remarks in 
her unconscious condition. 

“Will you tell Jane one thing, Mrs. Proc- 
ter?” asked Eandall, after a pause. He 
hesitated, but went on firmly enough. “If 
she recovers consciousness before — before 
— the end, will you tell her that I still love 
her, that I have not been able to put her 
out of my heart?” 

“Yes, I will tell her — ” 

Mrs. Procter promised, with tears run- 
ning over her face. 

Francis Eandall prepared to go out into 
the storm. 

“The fever will have to run its course. 
It may be many days before — ” 

“I will let you know,” replied Mrs. Proc- 
ter, and Francis Eandall went out into the 
tempest. 

He stopped at the corner, where the snow 
blew in masses of drift, and looked back 


222 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


at the lighted upper window, the sick 
room. The woman he loved was there, dy- 
ing, he said. He looked a long time, care- 
less of the storm. Then he slowly went 
home, and the whole force of the white 
storm seemed to weigh him down and add 
to his years. Por he had lived very much 
since his mother told him that Jane Proc- 
ter was not likely to live. 

In the days that followed that night, 
Francis Randall did many things, mechan- 
ically, from force of habit, as he had 
trained himself to do them. 

Among other things he sent his book 
to a well-known publishing firm in New 
York, and then forgot all about it. His 
interest in the book had died out of him 
from that night when he first learned of 
Jane’s illness. Every day he heard*, in 
some way, how she was. Mrs. Procter,, 
obedient to her promise, sent word often 
to the Manse. But neither she nor John 
Procter knew until afterwards, that night 
after night Francis Randall went by the 
hoiise and stayed long by that same cor- 
ner where he had stopped before, looking 
up at the light in the upper room where the 
trained nurse was helping Mrs. Procter 
battle with the phj^sician for the life that 
feebly fluttered and almost went out sev- 
eral times in that mysterious period be- 
tween 2 and 4 o’clock in the morning, 
when so many souls leave their tenement. 


THU MIRACIyU AX MARKHAM 


223 



“the white storm seemed to weigh him 

DOWN.” 


224 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


At last, the crisis came. One night 
when the storm broke again over Mark- 
ham, and drifted great banks of snow 
through the streets, and piled it high over 
fences and buildings, the weary watchers 
by Jane’s bedside noted that change 
which marks fhe soul’s approach to the 
mysterious other world. The forces of the 
body and spirit had struggled long for the 
mastery. The wan faces of nurse and 
mother, the stern sadness of the father 
and doctor watched the struggle culmin- 
ate. And at last as dawn broke through 
the storm, Jane’s body, slowly, as if re- 
luctant to continue the earthly fight, re- 
leased itself from the touch of the last 
great enemy, and those who loved her 
knew that she would live. When the doc- 
tor said that the crisis was passed, and life 
had conquered. Hr. and Mrs. Procter broke 
down. John Procter went into his study. 
Mrs. Procter soon followed him there. 
And, after a moment of rejoicing together, 
they sent word to Francis Eandall. 

His mother brought him the news, and he 
received it in silence. His heart went out 
in a great wave of thankful prayer. After 
a moment he said, “Mother, God has 
spared her for some good reason.” 

“My son, I pray He has spared her that 
you may have joy again.” 

“Perhaps, mother,” replied Francis. 
Nevertheless, during the next few hours 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


225 


he wondered if Mrs. Procter would tell 
Jane what he had asked her to tell in case 
Jane had recovered consciousness only to 
die. The first time he called at the house 
Mrs. Procter told him that she had not 
said anything to Jane yet. 

“Do you want me to say anything now?” 
Mrs. Procter asked, as Kandall sat, pale 
and troubled, looking at her. 

“No, 1 think it would be better, on 

the whole, not to — ” replied Francis, 
slowly. 

Then he went back to his work, feeling 
that Jane’s illness had not really changed 
the relations that existed before. It had 
emphasized his love for her, it had re- 
minded him that she was still the one 
woman in all the world to him, but could 
he .assume any change had happened to 
Jane? Could he venture to break the si- 
lence, or approach her with any more as- 
surance than he had before, that she re- 
pented of her decision and was ready to 
give her heart to him in spfte of his lack of 
wealth ? 

In this uncertainty, he simply did what 
a man of his simple-hearted nature would 
do, he took up his work again, and waited. 
If Jane ever changed, ought she not, in 
some way, to let him know it? Could he, 
in any case, again presume upon the pos- 
sibility that she might love him? It 
might place her in a critical position, but. 


22j 


the; MIRACIyE AT MARKHAM 


somshow, he felt that he must wait for 
her to let him know what the future was to 
’oe* 

During- this time, while Jane was slowly 
recovering, word came one day to Francis 
ilnndall that his book had been accepted by 
the i3ublishers. It was a surprise to him. 
He had anticipated refusal. The terms 
offered him were 10 per cent royalty on all 
sales after the first edition had been sold. 

He at once wrote, accej)ting’ the terms, 
revised proof as it was sent to him, and 
then, in the time while the book was be- 
ing prepared for the public, he again for- 
got it largely, or at least he did not 
have any great hopes of its popular suc- 
cess. 

One reason for this feeling, or lack of 
feeling, rare in a young author over his 
first book, was due to the events which 
made Markham famous that winter. As 
he was one of the central figures in all 
that remarkable series of movements, 
Francis Randall may be pardoned if the ex- 
citement of his church work absorbed so 
large a part of his best thought and en- 
thusiasm. 

For the Sunday reform begun by the 
churches, had swept Markham like a fire. 
Even the sneering comments of the daily 
paper had not been able to stop the tide 
that rose and overwhelmed all opposi- 
tion. 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


227 


There had been one Sunday when every 
church had taken action together. Eight 
of the churches had continued the subject in 
a series of sermons and addresses. Scores 
of the business men who belonged to the 
churches, had united in a pledge to keep a 
better Sunday. An appeal had been made 
successfully, to the Postoffice Department, 
and the office was actually closed on Sun- 
day, at last, in spite of the frantic outcry 
made by the paper and the editor’s whole- 
sale denunciation of the reform as Puritan- 
ical and bigoted. 

Nor was that all. The reforms suggest- 
ed by John Procter and Hugh Cameron to 
their people were gradually taken up by 
the people of the other churches, and in 
details, Markham’s Sunday began to be 
talked about in other towns on the same 
line of railroad. The women organized 
and secured pledges that were kept by 
the men, to discontinue their subscriptions 
to the Sunday papers brought in by the 
newspaper train Sunday morning. 

The list of subscribers actually fell off 
two-thirds. The man who delivered the 
papers from the train was at once aware 
that something had happened, and for the 
first time he began to ask questions of 
the news dealer who supplied the car- 
riers at the sation. 

“What’s struck your old town?” he asked 
the first Sunday morning after the sub- 


228 THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 

scription fell off. The train had a little 
longer wait than usual, on account of a 
hot-box. 

“The preachers have been having a go 
at the papers,” replied the news-dealer 
with an oath. ‘"This blamed reform busi- 
ness will be the death of this town if it 
goes on. It’ll be Sunday all the time here, 
after awhile, and they won’t even let you 
toot your whistle, for fear of disturbing 
the Sunday Schools.” 

The man on the train looked thought- 
fully at the other one. He was a married 
man, and he had a wife and three children* 
living in Buffalo. He saw his wife three 
times a week, and his children when they 
were asleep, and he had not been inside 
of a church on Sunday, for six years. 

“ I wouldn’t mind a little reform busi- 
ness, myself,” he said to himself, as the 
train moved away from Markham, to 
carry its papers to the next town, where 
hundreds of church members were impa- 
tiently waiting for their Sunday morning 
paper, and telephoning to the station to 
know why the train was late. And yet we 
continue to go to church and listen com- 
placently to sermons about the thankful 
hearts we ought to have for the privilege 
of worship in God’s house on the Lord’s 
Day. Meanwhile, the man who seldom sees 
his children, except when they are asleep, 
is rushing over tlie continent on the news- 


229 


The MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


paper train that onr selfishness and theft 
of God’s time keep moving-. Who will be 
to blame if that man’s soul comes into the 
kingdom and up to God’s judgment bar 
starved and feeble at the last great day? 

But the Sunday reform in Markham did 
not stop with the Sunday paper and the 
postofiice. It began to have an infiuence in 
the family circles, and led to a movement 
in which the hired girl question began to 
be agitated in a wise and helpful way. 

The women in several of the churches 
began to discuss in their club and society 
meetings, the best way of spending Sun- 
day. And this led to an unexpected de- 
velopment of the vexed question of help 
in the home. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


‘the MARKHAM PLAN.” 



T happened that during 
one of these discus- 
sions, Mrs. George 
Wilson was present. 


Mrs. Wilson was 
the richest woman in 
Markham. She was a 
widow, and had one 
son who was study- 


ing law in Columbus. She had been spend- 
ing a large part of the year in Columbus 
with her son, but had returned to Markham 
a few days after Jane had passed the crisis 
of her illness. 

Mrs. Wilson was a member of the Epis- 
copal Church, and one of its most liberal 
givers. She had known and respected Dean 
Kandall, and was one of the members who 
had supported him during the days of his 
trouble before the trial. At the same 
time, she was regarded as the social lead- 
er in Markham, and a woman of very great 
influence. 

“I’ll tell you my opinion of the Sunday 
question, so far as my girls are concerned,” 
said Mrs. Wilson, after the discussion had 
become very animated. 

“I keep a cook and a general house maid 
as you all know.” Mrs. Wilson was an 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


231 


unusually frank woman in the disclosure 
of her household affairs, “and they are 
both German girls, and very religious. 
That does not mean that they are necessar- 
ily over-pious, but I’ve noticed that very 
often the people that hire help are not 
half so Christian as the help they hire. 
That’s not the subject, perhaps. But 
Sundays I have always tried to make an 
easy day for the girls, so that they could 
go to church as much as I do. I used to 
give special dinners on Sunday, invite in 
half a dozen friends and have an extra 
social time of it, but I was cured of that by 
a girl I had about that time. She made 
me ashamed of the practice, and I’ve given 
it up. Tell you about it, some time. A 
good many church members make their 
girls in the kitchen work hard'er Sundays 
than any other day. It’s a great mistake 
to have Sunday company. My idea is if 
you treat the hired girl right, you will gen- 
erally get right treatment in return. 
That has been my experience.” 

A storm of protest arose over this last 
sentence. Not even Mrs. Wilson’s good- 
natured superiority of leadership could 
drown the loud denial on the part of other 
ladies to the effect that time and again 
they had treated their girls in the most 
generous and Christian manner, and had 
repeatedly been met with ingratitude, a 
breaking of promises, and general lack of 


232 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


appreciation of favors extended by the 
mistress. 

Finally some one appealed to Mrs. Mur- 
ray, the vdfe of the Dean, for her opinion. 

Mrs. Murray v^as a gentle, modest wom- 
an, slow to express herself, not because 
she lacked character, but because she had 
a very deep respect for more positive na- 
tures than her own. When she did 
speak, however, she had a hearing, and her 
opinion carried weight. 

“I have been thinking,” she said, tim- 
idly, “that this vexed hired girl question 
will never be settled to any one’s satisfac- 
tion, until the Christian house-keepers and 
the Christian girls who work, come to- 
gether to discuss the whole matter on a 
purely Christian basis. If we could get 
all the Chtistian women in Markham to 
meet with all the Christian hired girls in 
the town for a mutual discussion of how 
best to better matters on both sides, I be- 
lieve^it would do a great deal of good.” 

It was surprising to notice what a hush 
fell over the company at this proposition. 
It was, perhaps, even more surprising to 
many that Mrs. Wilson approved of it. 

“I’ll be one to start some kind of an or- 
ganization like that, to bring mistress and 
maid together for the good of both sides. 
I’m not a very good Christian, but I be- 
lieve Mrs. Murray has suggested the only 
real solution for the difficulty,” Mrs. Wil- 


The miracee at markham 


233 


son said with a positive strength that 
added wonderfully to the gentle, quiet 
opinion of the Dean’s wife. 

They talked the matter over for a long 
time. And before they went home, the 
women of that club circle, numbering some 
of the most influential women in Mark- 
ham, had taken the first steps towards a 
reformi of the family life that changed the 
habits and revolutionized the customs of 
hundreds of homes, not only in Markham, 
but also throughout the country. What 
they did, and how it was done, are all a 
part of “The Miracle at Markham,” and 
will be told in its place, but it was simply 
part of that tremendous movement for 
Christian union, which unconsciously was 
overturning old traditions and making 
impossible again the old and useless cus- 
toms of a lifeless creed. The only creed 
that is worth anything, is the one that is 
lived. Markham, for the first time, was 
beginning to live its religious convictions, 
and the inevitable result was a vivifying of 
ALL its habits. 

It would be neglecting the largest source 
of the power that made all this transform- 
ing in the life of Markham possible, if we 
failed to describe the special series of 
prayer services that became such a feature 
of Markham’s religious life that winter, 
that in a short time they became known as, 
“The Markham Plan.” 


234 


'j^he; miracIvK markham 


Its very simplicity and directness ap- 
pealed to the best people in all the church- 
es, from the time that the revival, begun 
in John Procter’s and Hugh Cameron’s 
Union Church, began to make its influence 
felt in every church. 

The plan, in brief, was as follows: 

The town of Markham was regularly 
built up in squares, each square containing 
an average of about twenty-five houses. It 
was found after a careful canvass of the 
facts by John Procter, that at least two- 
thirds of the people in each block belonged 
to some church in Markham. Out of that 
number could be found, in nearly every 
case, some earnest man or woman who 
could be depended upon, particularly un- 
der the religious impulse that prevailed, to 
take the lead in organizing the whole block 
in which he lived into a series of evening 
prayer meetings, held in turn in every 
house in the block. In other words, the 
Christian people in each block in Markham 
were organized that winter to do house-to- 
house work in the locality nearest to them, 
not going outside of the square in which 
they, themselves, lived. 

The result of this simple but very defin- 
ite and hand-to-hand religious work, soon 
began tc^ show itself. 

The first immediate result noticeable, 
was a drawing together of the people who 
lived in the same square. Entering a 


THK MIRACI^U AT MARKHAM 


235 


neighbor’s house, to call upon him or even 
to eat with him, may not have much effect 
in drawing people together in real sym- 
pathy or in purpose. But the minute 
neighbor begins to pray with neighbor, 
there is apt to be a closer, tenderer feeling. 
The religious feeling in men is deeper than 
any other. 

So it came to pass that winter in Mark- 
ham that people who had lived for years 
in the same block without really knowing 
one another, became acquainted on a re- 
ligious basis. The result of that acquaint- 
ance grew in meaning as the winter went 
by. 

Another immediate result was the inevit- 
able blotting out of old sectarian lines. 
In some squares in Markham, John Proc- 
ter, in the midst of his census of the town, 
had found members of all the different 
churches. The moment the prayer meet- 
ings began, the house-to-house gatherings 
of necessity brought all the neighbors to- 
gether on a. prayer equality. They discov- 
ered, as they went from house to house, 
that there was seldom anything sectarian 
said in a prayer. Almost all honest pray- 
ers are purely Christian. Men do not pray 
“baptism” or “apostolic succession,” or 
other peculiar tenets of denominational 
belief. At least, they do not when moved 
as the people of Markham were moved by 
the Holy Spirit that winter. The peti- 


236 the: MIRACIvH at MARKHAM 

tions were cries for more of the Christian 
graces, longings for the conversion of way- 
ward sons and careless daughters, wives 
beseeching for their husbands who were 
out of the church, teachers asking for wis- 
dom to lead their classes into the kingdom. 
There is no sectarianism in such prayers 
as those. Even Father Morris did not for- 
bid his Catholic parishioners from attend- 
ing these meetings. More than one devout 
Catholic opened his doors when the turn 
came to his own house, and for the first 
time in Markham’s history the Catholic 
neighbors in many of the squares, kneeled 
down by their Protestant neighbors and 
appealed to the same God for a better 
life. It was significant that while the 
priest himself never appeared at any of 
these gatherings, he never was known to 
oppose, outwardly, the attendance of his 
own church members. Nothing less than 
the profound moving of the Holy Spirit 
made such a fact possible. 

Another marked result of the “praying 
squares,” as they came to be known, in- 
stead of “Prayer Circles,” was the gain 
made in a certain concentration of relig- 
ious energy to certain fixed, and in one 
sense, narrow limits. No weather was so 
stormy that the people could not with com- 
parative ease get together when they 
simply moved from one house to another 
in the same square, without crossing any 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 237 


streets. It was remarked more than onee 
that winter that while Markham had more 
than the usual number of severe storms, 
the prayer meetings were not materially 
alfected by them. For the first time 
within the knowledge of Markham church 
members, the weather did not enter into 
their calculations about a good prayer 
meeting. 

A stranger to the story of Markham 
cannot understand all that happened there 
that winter and the following year, unless 
he understands the quiet but transform- 
ing infiuence of these “praying squares.” 
It is because of this fact that they have 
been described somewhat in detail. It is 
doubtful if all the preaching in Markham 
from the pulpft on Sundays did as much 
to revolutionize the denominational senti- 
ment as the prayer meetings. The Mir- 
acle at Markham was possible because the 
element of prayer was put into the prob- 
lem of making a better town. More than 
once, John Procter and Hugh Cameron 
and Francis Handall confessed that many 
of the things they tried to do would have 
been impossible if the Spirit had not 
moved all through the town in the “pray- 
ing squares” of Markham. 

So as the winter was drawing to its 
close, and spring was nigh, Markham be- 
gan to realize that it was entering upon a 
new and unusual life. The Sunday re- 


23S 


THE MIRACEB at MARKHAM 


form had surprised every one, no one 
more than the disgusted newspaper men 
and small tradesmen of Markham. The 
churches had, to their surprise, also found 
that they had a common meeting ground 
in the purity of the Sabbath. It was no 
unusual thing for John Procter, Charles 
Harris, Capt. Andrews, of the Salvation 
Army, Francis Handall and Eev. Lawrence 
Brown, the Methodist minister, to speak 
from the same platform at a union meet- 
ing in which the Sunday question was dis- 
cussed from all sides. 

But as the, winter passed away, the need 
grew more imperative for a better daily 
paper. A paper owned and controlled by 
tne churches, was the ideal that John 
Procter constantly held iqD to the people. 
He finally succeeded in gaining over to his 
view nearly every pastor in Markham. 
The idea was a new one, but its very orig- 
inality appealed to the church people. 

“We need such a paper,” John Procter 
would say, “before we can make any suc- 
cessful fight against the saloons in Mark- 
ham.” He pointed out the fact, repeated- 
ly, that the only daily that Markham had 
was committed wholly to the saloon ele- 
ment. He also emphasized the need of a 
paper in the homes of Markham, that 
would represent, at least, as Christian a 
life 9s the churches. 

“If the daily paper is tearing down six 


THE MIR ACTE AT MARKHAM 239 

\. 

days in a week, a great part of what the 
preathers are trying to build up one day, 
how much headway can we make against 
the saloon or any form of evil? We must 
have some DAILY voice of Christian con- 
viction sounding in the ears of our people 
to supiDlement the words we speak to them 
from the pulpit.” 

So John Procter kept saying, and many 
of the business men of Markham began to 
respond. A canvass began for funds to 
organize a daily paper which should be 
owned and controlled by Christian peo- 
ple. The church members of Markham 
were made to feel that they were to be the 
supporters of such a paper. 

The ministers of the churches made this 
canvass themselves, or delegated it to 
some of the best of their members. Dean 
Murray and Francis Eandall both entered 
into the plan with a cordial spirit. The 
Dean was cautious but kindly m his at- 
titude. Eandall was enthusiastic about it. 
Frequently he talked with the Dean about 
it, and the older man smiled a little, but 
said nothing to oppose the movement. 

Francis Eandall, therefore, made a can- 
vass, personally, of Grace Cathedral par- 
ish, to secure subscriptions for the first 
Christian daily of Markham. It was to 
be called “The Markham Union.” 

He was just starting out one afternoon 
to see Mrs. George Wilson. The winier 


t 


240 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


was over, and the spring had really come 
at last. He was feeling better than he 
had once thougnt possible, after the most 
severe winter’s work he had ever known. 
Somehow, he seemed to think all would 
come right between Jane and himself after 
all. He had not seen her often, had not 
spoken to her, but the few times he had 
caught glimpses of her she seemed to be 
recovering her health and beauty. Once 
at a social gathering his eyes had met 
hers, and she had blushed and turned pale 
again. Was it possible she had discovered 
the facts about his coming to the house 
while she was ill? Surely, Mrs. Procter 
could not keep all that secret from her. 

He went out, and as he passed the post- 
office, he w^ent in for his mail. Among 
the letters was one from his New York 
publishers, that brought the color to his 
cheeks and started his pulse beating fast; 

Rev. Francis Randall, Markham, O. : 

Dear Sir — Your book has today passed its 
fifth thousand, and orders are coming in rap- 
idly. The outlook now is very promising for 
a large and popular sale. We have ordered 
another five thousand at once from the prin- 
ter. Telegraph us if you have any suggestions 
to make as to changes in preface or cover de- 
sign. We congratulate you on your success. 

Very truly yours, 

Francis Eandall would have been less or 
or more than human if he had not been 
thrilled at the receipt of this letter. An 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


241 



FELT A PASSION OF ALMOST HATRED 


M 


242 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


author’s first book is like nothing else in 
his affections. The possibility of what he 
had written going’ beyond a. first little 
edition had never occun-ed to him. He 
was rarely modest for a man, and had no 
exalted ideas of his abilities as a writer. 
But he was pleased. He read the letter 
over again and again. As he lifted his 
eyes from it the last time, ke saw Jane 
coming up the street again, coming froo'. 
her school. This time she was not alone. 
A young man was walking by her, and 
as the two passed Randall, Jane’s face 
burned. The young man returned Ran- 
dall’s greeting, courteously, and passed on, 
still talking earnestly to Jane. 

For the first time in his life the Episco- 
pal clergyman felt blaze up in him a pas- 
sion of almost hatred. He knew Mrs. Wil- 
son’s son, Mark, the young lawyer in Co- 
lumbus. He did not know anything but 
good of him, but at that moment he had 
an agony of suspicion at the thought of 
Mark Wilson and Jane together. 

“She has given me her answer, though,” 
he kept saying to himself, as he doggedly 
went on toward Mrs. Wilson’s. “The 
other man has money enough. Or his 
mother has for him. If she wants to 
marry for money, evidently she has an 
opportunity.” 

So, Francis Randall, love is not blind 
when it comes to seeing the marks of it in 


THIi MIRACI^E AT MARKHAM 


243 


other people’s faces? It was with the 
nearest approach to bitterness of spirit 
that he had ever felt, that he rang- the bell 
at Mrs. George Wilson’s and was ushered 
into the parlor. 

Mrs. Wilson was genuinely glad to see 
him. She had been a firm friend of his 
father, the Dean, and one of his heartiest 
supporters in all the financial part of the 
church work. 

Francis presented the matter of the pro- 
posed Christian daily, and was going into 
details when Mrs. Wilson stopped him. 

“You needn’t say any more. I believe in 
all that. Put me down for a thousand 
dollars, and when you want more, call 
again.” 

Francis thanked her, and after a few 
common-place remarks, he rose to go. 

“Wait a minute, Mr. Eandall, won’t 
you?” asked Mrs. Wilson with a little em- 
barrassment of manner unusual to her. 
“I want to ask your advice about Mark.” 

“Yes?” said Randall, sitting down again, 
and feeling vaguely that something like a 
crisis had come for him. But he did not 
feel able to put it into words. 

“The fact is, that Mark is desperately in 
love with Jane Procter. He has been in 
love a good many times, but this time he 
is completely swept away. I don’t know 
that I blame him. She is the prettiest 
and most sensible girl in Markham. I’ll 


244 'I^HE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

do anything- I can to help Mark.' He 
hasn’t seen her very much, only about two 
weeks, lately. He thinks her father and 
mother are not very favorable to him. 
Could you use your influence in any way 
with them? My heart is bound up in 
Mark. I would do anything in the world 
for him. You know he will have all 1 have 
when I’m gone. He has all he wants now, 
for that matter.” 

Mrs. Wilson had talked on in her usual 
rapid fashion, wholly absorbed in the sub- 
ject, and not noticing Eandall’s face. 
She now turned towards him, smiling. 
She was astonished at what she saw in his 
face. And she was still more astonished 
at his reply, when he finally spoke. 


chapte;r XIX, 
“what the king said.” 



iRS. Wilson,” said Francis 
Randall looking straight 
at her, and speaking, as his 
habit was, slowly, “I can- 
not do what you ask, for 
the reason that I love Jane 
Procter myself.” 

Mrs. Wilson stared at him 
in astonishment. It was 
some time before she could say a word. 
But the man’s face was eloquent of the 
truth. 

“Of course, I know nothing of all this, 
Mr. Randall,” at last she said carefully. 
“You know I have been away from Mark- 
ham a great deal, and no one ever hinted 
such a thing to me.” 

It was true that Francis’ romance had 
escaped the notice of the gossips in almost 
a miraculous manner. But the absence of 
Randall in Pyramid, his apparent indiffer- 
ence to Jane when he returned to Mark- 
ham, and a complete silence on the part of 
the two families had resulted in the ab- 
sence of all talk about the matter. Mrs. 
Wilson had no suspicion of the facts until 
now. 

“At the same time,” continued Francis, 
while his face grew pale under his emo- 


246 THK MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 

tion, “I ought to tell you that I have no 
reason to hope that Miss Procter will 
ever — ” 

He stopped suddenly, and Mrs. Wilson 
finished the sentence silently. She was be- 
ginning to feel the fact that this man’s 
one romance might also be his life tragedy. 

For a long time neither of them spoke. 
Then Mrs. Wilson said, speaking very 
gravely: 

“Neither of us can prevent my son from 
trying to win Jane Procter. Mark is al- 
ready in love with her. He has told me 
that he means to ask her to be his wife. 1 
am sure he will do this before he returns 
to Columbus next week. Even the knowl- 
edge of your love for her would make no 
difference with him. In fact, I believe it 
would only hasten his action.” 

Francis Eandall looked up. “It is for 
her to choose. As you say, your son is 
rich. He is also attractive and successful 
in his profession. What more could a 
woman ask?” 

He spoke proudly, but there was a bitter- 
ness in his tone that Mrs. Wilson inter- 
preted right. She was a shrewd woman of 
the world, and it did not take much in- 
sight for her to discover a large part of 
Francis Eandall’s secret. 

“I do not need to say that I regret, — I, — 
can I offer sympathy — ” 

“No, I want no sympathy,” said Eandall, 


THE MIRACEEi AT MARKHAM 247 


the warm blood rushing into his pale 
cheeks. “The only thing, — you see how 
impossible it would be for me to — ” 

“Of course, I see that. How could I 
know. If Mark succeeds, he — ” , 

“He succeeds on his own merits. That 
is all,” said Francis, rising. Mrs. Wil- 
son pitied him at that moment. If there 
had been any way in which she could have 
helped him, it is possible she would have 
done it, even at the cost of opposing her 
son’s ambitions. 

“You will, of course, respect my secret?” 
said Eandall with quiet dignity. 

“I will as if it were sacred to my own 
son,” replied Mrs. Wilson, and Eandall 
went out, leaving a very much perplexed 
and astonished and saddened woman. 

Once out on the street he had time to 
think over the whole matter. He walked 
about until it was dark. The picture of 
Jane and Mark Wilson together, stood out 
vividly before Him. He was torn with pas- 
sion, and tormented at the thought of 
Jane’s probable reply to the rich young 
lawyer. In spite of the fact that he had 
repeatedly said that Jane’s answer in his 
own case was final and that they could 
never again be anything to each other, he 
went through a perfect agony of fear at 
the thought of another man winning her. 

“If she accepts Mark Wilson, ’‘ he said, 
as he finally went home, “I shall know it is 


248 THE MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


because she loves wealth more than love, — 
and then, — I shall learn to despise instead 
of love her. If she rejects him, I shall 
know that possibly there is hope for me^ — 
and then — ” 

He walked quietly into his study with- 
out letting his mother know that he was 
home. As he took off his overcoat, he 
felt the letter he had received that after- 
noon, announcing the success of his first 
book. 

He took the letter out and threw it down 
on his desk. It meant less than nothing 
to him at this moment. And in the ex- 
citement and unrest of his feelings, he 
sat down, and laying his head on the desk 
with his face touching the letter that pre- 
dicted his coming fame as an author, he 
groaned in spirit over his love for Jane. 
Ah! Fame! How powerless thou art to take 
the place of love! A very empty thing by 
the side of the heart’s deep longing for 
that which alone satisfies the heart. 

The next few days were days of inde- 
scribable uncertainty to Francis Kandall. 
More than once he met Jane and Mark 
Wilson on the street. Each time Jane be- 
trayed the greatest confusion. She had 
not been able to avoid Wilson, and in fact, 
all Markham was soon in possession of his 
secret. He did not attempt to disguise 
or hide his love for her. All the gossips in 
Markham were talking about the two. It 


THE MIRACEB at MARKHAM 


249 


was the general opinion that Jane would 
marry him. Indeed, it was asserted that 
they were already engaged, and that ac- 
counted for the fact that they were seen 
so often in each other’s company. 

Saturday of that week, as Francis Ean- 
dall was going home from a conference 
with Hugh Cameron, he passed by ]\Irs. 
Wilson’s. She saw him going by, and 
tapped on the window and beckoned him 
to come in. 

When he entered, he saw at once what 
she had to say. 

“Mark has gone bacK to Columbus,” she 
began with a sad smile, and yet she had a 
feeling of pleasure also for this other man. 
“He received his answer. Jane Procter re- 
fused him.” 

Francis Eandall expericYiced a feeling of 
relief that was indescribable in its effect 
on the tension of his heart and mind. 

“Of course,’' continued Mrs. Wilson, “I 
do not expect you to offer me- any sym- 
pathy under the circumstances. It is a 
hard blow- for Mark. It will take him a 
long time to get over it. I can’t blame you 
for the way you must feel now.” 

“It is difficult for me to express myself, 
Mrs. Wilson. I am still — ” 

In fact, Francis was in the dark largely 
as to Jane’s motives in refusing to accept 
Mark Wilson. Only this much was clear. 
She had positively refused an offer of 


250 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


marriage from a rich man. So, after all, 
money alone could not satisfy her. 

Saying this over to himself, Francis 
Randall went home, and with the begin- 
ning of the old hope again he faced his 
future. Should he speak to Jane again? 
Had she not told him jdainly enough by 
her action in sending Mark Wilson away, 
that she might listen to the other lover 
once more? 

The following week he hesitated several 
times in the midst of his work and did not 
know what he ought to do. Once he had 
met Jane on the street. The blush on her 
face was significant. When he passed as 
before, gravely, and without any other 
recognition except the lifting of his hat, 
Jane’s face changed from its rush of color 
to a paleness that made Randall feel a self- 
reproach he could not drive away. After 
he had passed her a few steps, he did what 
he had never done before. He turned 
around and looked at her. As he did so, 
Jane, also, as she turned from the main 
street into the one leading to her home, 
looked back at him. Then she hurried on 
faster than ever, and he went on slowly 
to his study, more tossed about in his mind 
than he had been before. 

The next morning he received a letter 
from his publisher in New York, urging 
him to come on and confer about the writ- 
ing and publishing of future books. He 


tH.n MIRACtK AT MARKHAM 


251 


felt the need of a little change after the 
hard winter’s work, and also hoped that 
during the time he was away he might 
come to some right conclusion as to his at- 
titude towards Jane, and that night he 
took the express for New York. 

The next day Mrs. Procter called at the 
Manse on some business belonging to the 
churches, and while there learned of Fran- 
cis’ departure. 

“I suppose his book has been very suc- 
cessful, hasn’t it?” she asked Mrs. Kan- 
dall. 

“Yes, it has been a wonderful success, 
according to the publishers,” replied Mrs. 
Pandall, proud i^^ “And by the way, Fran- 
cis left a copy here for Mr. Procter. He 
was going to take it over. Will you give 
it to him?” 

Mrs. Procter had not yet seen the book, 
and took it home. She could not help no- 
ticing Jane’s look when her father took 
the book and read the title: “What the 
King Said.” 

“It’s a queer title,” John Procter re- 
marked as he turned the leaves. Like 
every one else who saw it, he was curious 
I0 know what the book was about. 

“It has had a wonderful sale already,” 
said Mrs. Procter, and again she noted 
.lane’s strange expression. 

“Yes,” continued .John Procter a little 
absent-mindedly as he turned back to the 


252 


the; miracle; at markham 


beginning of the book and began to read, 
‘•I suppose Kandall will make more than 
most authors make, on account of the un- 
usual sale.” 

“You don’t think he will make his for- 
tune, do you?” Mrs. Procter asked, looking 
furtively at Jane. 

“It’s possible, I suppose,” replied Mr. 
Procter, reading on. 

Jane rose and went out of the room, and 
Mrs. Procter seemed disturbed over some- 
thing, but did not venture to interrupt her 
husband who was already deep in the open- 
ing chapter. 

The next day when he came in from his 
parish work, he could not find the book 
which he had left on his study table. He 
asked his wife where it was, and she said 
she thought Jane had taken it. And, in 
fact, at that moment Jane, in her room, 
where she had gone immediately after 
school, was absorbed in the story. More 
than once her eyes filled with tears. Once 
she laid the book down and put her face 
in her hands with the gesture familiar to 
her. Then she opened the book and went 
on eagerly. This man, once her lover, was 
farther from her now than ever. He had 
written a successful book. He was grow- 
ing not only famous, but probably rich. 
Even if in some way she were to let him 
know that she cared more for his love than 
for all the money in the world, how could 


the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


253 



“ ‘you do not think hk will makk his for- 
tune, DO YOU?* ” 


A 





■ '/r 

- 7 : 4 : 


- 


- r*'’f 


^54 


I'HE miracle at MARKHAM 


he be sure that she was not now attracted 
by his probable fame and wealth? 

So she sat reading- on, her heart divided 
between admiration for the story and love 
for its author and uncertainty concerning 
the future. And of all the interested read- 
ers who that year acknowledged the fas- 
cination of the new book, “What the King 
Said,” it is safe to say none devoured its 
pages with the emotion that was felt by 
Jane Procter. 

It was during Francis Eandall’s absence 
in New York, that the movement for the 
better relation between house-keepers and 
servants began in Markham. 

The movement belongs to the entire up- 
ward life of Markham, and in the history 
of “The Miracle at Markham,” it can be 
traced to the union of the Christians in 
their efforts to better the general condi- 
tion of the town’s life. 

Mrs. George Wilson, with her usual en- 
ergy, assisted by Mrs. Murray and other 
women in the different churches met, and 
after long discussion together finally 
called a meeting of all the Christian girls 
who were at service in Markham. 

It was doubted at first by a few of the 
housekeepers whether there were any ]:)ro- 
fessing Christians among the hired girls. 
A careful canvass of the matter, however, 
revealed the fact that there were a good 
many, who not only belonged to differenf 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


255 


churches, but were liberal givers to church 
expenses, and especially in the Catholic 
Church, devout attendants whenever their 
time would allow. 

So it came about that one afternoon the 
first of a series of meetings began in Mrs. 
George Wilson’s house, that for real re- 
sults astonished every one, and not least 
of all, the very women who originated the 
plan. 

At that first gathering there were pres- 
ent fifteen house-keepers and as many 
girls. Mrs. Wilson, with an instinctive 
knowledge of her lack of ability to do cer- 
tain things right, with a wisdom that was 
of a high order in its tact and far-sighted- 
ness, insisted on Mrs. Murray’s presenta- 
tion of the proposed plan of conference be- 
tween mistress and maid. So it came to 
pass that the one woman in all Markham 
who was best fitted by her gentle Christian 
manner and life, was the first one to bring 
the subject of Christian housekeeping to 
the minds and hearts of that little gather- 
ing. 

She proposed a very simple but effective 
l^lan of conference first. It was taken for 
granted that they had come together on 
the ground of a common desire to better 
*the relations between the housekeeper and 
the servant in the family circle. On that 
basis, it was necessary for both sides to 
speak with the utmost frankness, and con- 


256 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

fer together lovingly about the smallest 
details that made up the life of the 
home. 

In accordance with this plan, one of the 
housekeepers and one of the girls were 
asked to prepare for the next meeting, a 
series of answers to the question, *‘What 
are some of the greatest needs in the ser- 
vice of a home?” The housekeeper to 
speak for her side of the question, the girl 
to speak for hers. A general discussion 
on both sides to follow. 

It was astonishing to note the results 
that came at once from this preliminarj' 
meeting. When the girls went away they 
walked in groups back to their different 
homes, talking over the coming meeting. 
The women at Mrs. Wilson’s were no less 
impressed with the value of the step taken. 
Yet not even Mrs. Wilson, with all her 
characteristic enthusiasm, could measure 
the significance of the movement begun in 
1 er own house. 

“It will succeed because it is on the basis 
of Christian conference for mutual help- 
fulness,” Mrs. Murray finally said in reply 
to one timid woman’s doubt as to how the 
meetings would end. And she was wholly 
right. No other solution of such a ques- 
tion as that of the right relation of mis-'* 
tress and servant can be found except at 
the heart of a mutual desire on both sides 
to do the Christian thing. 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


257 


There is also another important change 
which occurred in the church life of Mark- 
ham that spring, which needs to be re- 
corded in this place. 

In the coming conflict which was being 
prepared against the saloon in Markham, 
John Procter and Hugh Cameron wisely 
decided to use, in every possible way, the 
young people of the Union Church. But 
in organizing them for the coming cam- 
paign, they soon made the discovery that 
by far the largest part of the young peo- 
ple in Markham attended the Methodist 
and Baptist Churches. In talking over the 
situation, John Procter said: 

“Now, Brother Cameron, what do you 
think about making an appeal to Brother 
Brown and Brother Harris, and urge them 
to swing their young people’s societies in- 
to line with the Endeavor movement? We 
find, by a careful canvass, that Brown has 
seventy-five people in his Epworth League 
and Harris has fifty in his Baptist Union. 
We have forty members in our Endeavor 
Society. The Lutherans have thirty. The 
United Presbyterians have twenty. The 
Cumberland Presbyterians have fifteen. 
The Free-Will Baptists have ten. If Har- 
ris and Brown will throw the weight of 
their young j^eople’s societies into line 
with all the rest, we can do a great work 
for the Christian paper and the cause of 
temperance.” 


258 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

Hugh Cameron was very thoughtful for 
awhile. 

“Do you think there is any probability 
that the Methodists and Baptists will do 
such a thing?” 

“I know this much,” replied John Proc- 
ter, with a smile, “that we have been sur- 
prised beyond measure at the miracle al- 
ready wrought in Markham. Who can 
tell what we shall yet enjoy of the Spirit’s 
power?' 1 am sure from something I heard 
Brother Harris say the other day, that he 
realizes, as never before, the great value of 
church union for Christian work.” 

“Will you talk with him about this union 
of the young people?” 

“Yes, if you will interview Brother 
Brown about his Epworth League.” 

“I’ll do it,” replied Hugh Cameron. 


CHAPTKK XX. 

THE PROFESSOR VISITS PYRAMID. 

IE result of these two inter- 
views was surprising, even 
to John Procter, who in the 
history of the “Miracle at 
Markham,” already had ex- 
perienced some very unusual 
things in his church life. 

Charles Harris listened 
quietly to John Procter’s 
suggestions about disband- 
ing his Baptist Union and re-organizing on 
the basis of Christian Endeavor, and when 
Procter was through, he astonished him 
by saying: 

“I have been on the point, several times 
this winter, of talking with you about this. 
Why should our young people be divided in 
the plans and purposes and studies of 
their religious life, when they are all to- 
gether in their school and social life? I 
will arrange my society in such a way as 
to co-operate with all the others. If it is 
thought best, I will join Brother Brown 
in re-organizing on the basis of Christian 
Endeavor. Your societies were first or- 
ganized. Ours are not essentially differ- 
ent, and for the sake of the closest pos- 
sible union of effort, I am willing to make 
the outward change of organization.” 



26o the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

John Procter could not conceal his emo- 
tion. The tears came into his eyes as he 
grasped Harris’ hand. 

“This would have been impossible, Bro. 
Procter, a year ago. .Do you know, I be- 
lieve I have been converted by the ‘pray- 
ing squares’ this winter.” 

“We. have all been wonderfully blessed 
by the presence of Christ,” replied John 
Procter, softly. 

He reported to Hugh Cameron, and 
found that his colleague had, practically, 
the same report to make of his interview 
with the Methodist pastor. He had hinted 
at some difficulty with his Presiding Elder 
and his Bishop, but thought that it would 
not be insurmountable. 

“The fact is,” said Hugh Cameron, 
“Brother Brown spoke of the necessity of 
all Christians, old and young, uniting to 
drive out the saloon. I think that argu- 
ment is the one that has most influence 
with him. He said he could easily agree 
with all the rest of us that as long as 
there is a lack of union even on the part of 
a part of the church, we could not carry 
on a successful flght against the whisky 
power.” 

So the young people of Markham in time 
came together in their religious life. M^at 
once seemed absolutely impossible, be- 
came possible on account of the gentle 
softening influence of the Spirit of Power 


THB MIRACI.B; AT MARKHAM 


261 


that moved through the town. Men’s 
hearts were larger. They saw the king- 
dom with a wfder vision. They drew 
nearer together as they saw more clearly 
the nature of the conflict they were about 
to VvHge with one of the greatest enemies 
of the home and the church and the 
world. 

All this was not accomplished at once. 
There were many steps to take before 
such* a movement could possibly be real- 
ized. There was opposition in both the 
Methodist and the Baptist Church to the 
proposed changes. But they Anally did 
succeed in rallying most of the older peo- 
ple, and all of the young men and women 
around the work of combining with every 
other Christian in Markham against the 
saloon. 

It was during this period, and while 
Francis Bandall was still absent in New 
York, that William Procter, out in Pyra- 
mid, fought his great fight and came to 
know the stress and bitterness of standing 
almost alone in a good cause. 

All the experience he had from the time 
he left the mill and took up the work that 
Randall had begun, was telling upon him 
in many ways. He was, of necessity, ex- 
ceedingly conscientious, or he would never 
have attempted a work so exacting, so un- 
expected in one sense even to one as strict 
with himself as he was. He was living on 


262 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


the earning’s of his pay as superintendent 
of the mill, but that would soon be gone, 
and then he must find some means of 
keeping out of debt. 

Meanwhile he found himself borne along 
into the work of reform in a manner 
strange to himself. His meetings which 
he had advertised by small dodgers scat- 
tered over the camj), were thronged. Mr. 
Clark, the minister who had befriended 
Eandall, came to William’s assistance 
nobly, but before the public meetings had 
been running three days he was stricken 
down with a serious illness and after that, 
William carried on the fight almost alone. 

Almost the entire sentiment of the camp 
was against him, the only paper printed in 
Pyramid while not oi3enly opposed to the 
meetings, concealed its indifference to the 
result under a sneer that gave the im- 
pression readily of support for the gam- 
bling element, and William faced the fact of 
a whole community that was so used to 
the gambling habit and so swayed by its 
unholy passion that the puritan fierceness 
of attack made upon it by this young man 
from the east roused all the worst antag- 
onism of the ignorant and the vicious: 
Nevertheless, with a dogged persistence 
that characterized his father, he went on 
with his meetings. He had at least an ,au- 
dience. As long as people came, he was 
determined to preach to them. 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 263 

For the first time since lie had left the 
Seminary, he felt at peace with himself. 
Whenever he thought of Eebecca Phillips 
he could not crowd down a feeling of hoiie. 
He had not heard a word from her during 
all his illness. That telegram that had 
come so unexpectedly had been all. Would 
he ever see her or hear from her again? 
He asked the question many times, even 
during the excitement of his meetings, 
and while he found no answer, somehow 
he lived in hope, a vague but none the less 
a real hope, that Rebecca would some time 
be his again. 

At this time in William’s experience, and 
while that interest in his meetings was at 
its height. Professor Elias Phillips came 
into the sitting room of his house in An- 
dover with a letter, a part of which he 
read to Rebecca. 

“It seems,” he went on commenting on 
the letter, “that the mines at Capstone are 
beginning to develop unexpected ore. The 
shares I bought there years ago, are now 
above par. The superintendent of the 
‘Gem’ writes me to come on if I can, and 
investigate matters a little. Then there 
are the mines in Pyramid that have been 
in the courts so long. There is a matter 
of witnessing, and so on, and he says it 
would be well if I could come on in person 
and see to my interests on the ground. I 
have been thinking — ” The professor re- 


264 the MIRACIyE AT MARKHA.M 

moved his spectacles and looked thought- 
fully at Kebecca, “I have been thinking it 
would be best to make the trip, and I have 
been wondering if you would care to go 
with me.” 

Rebecca looked up at her father, and her 
face burned. What would William think 
if she should suddenly appear in Pyramid? 
But, on the other hand, why should she 
not go, if she wanted to? She was very 
proud, this daughter of the Professor of 
Old Testament history in Andover, and she 
had been in the habit generally of doing 
what her imperious will dictated. 

“We can go during the . spring vacation. 
That begins next week. I should very 
much like to have you go with me, Re- 
becca,” said the professor, and at no time 
either then or afterwards, did he hint at 
the fact of William Procter as being any- 
where in existence. 

“I’ll go with you, father,” Rebecca an- 
swered slowly. 

When the day came for them to start, 
she was conscious of a certain exhileration 
of manner that was new to her. But she 
had no presentiment of the strange cir- 
cumstances under which she was to meet 
William Procter again. 

They went to Capstone first, and after 
•staying two days on the business of the 
mines, they took the train for Pyramid. 

The two camps were not far apart, and 


THU MIRACIv« AT MARKHAM 265 


the professor and Rebecca expected to 
reach Pyramid in the afternoon. . But 
there was a wreck of ore cars on the road, 
the train was several hours late, and when 
they finally reached Pyramid it was 8 
o’clock. 

They walked up the board sidewalk of 
the main street towards the best hotel for 
which the professor inquired, and walked 
slowly, for the main street of Pyramid at 
this time, was not noted for its good order 
or the repair of its walks. There was an 
unusually large crowd on the streets, and 
to the professor and his daughter coming 
from the scholastic quiet and refinement of 
Andover, there was a bewildering amount 
of noise and shouting and confusion. 
Every saloon and gambling house and den 
of the camp was running full blast and 
apparently every one of them was full of 
men. Every now and then a revolver shot 
was heard. The camp had started in on 
one of its wild, reckless nights, and while 
those familiar with its night life were pre- 
pared more or less for its turmoil, the ef- 
fect of it on strangers was almost start- 
ling. A light rain was softly falling, and 
the professor who had carried the old um- 
brella that he had used at home for many 
years very carefully, gripped it tight sev- 
eral times, as if he meant to use it as a 
weapon of defense in case he was held up 
on the main street of Pyramid. 


266 THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 

“This is not the place for you, Kebecca,” 
said the professor, as Eebecca clung to his 
arm a little tighter, and shrank back as 
they passed saloon after saloon. 

“I’m not afraid,’’ said Eebecca, and it 
was true that the strange ^sights had the 
eifect of nerving her to a courage she 
really did not ijossess. 

As she spoke, they suddenly came to a 
crowd of men in front of a large building 
over the front of which was a cloth sign 
announcing that preaching services were 
being conducted inside. 

“This must be the place where William 
is working,” said Eebecca to herself. Be- 
fore she knew it, she and her father were 
in the crowd which was pouring into the 
hall. 

Prof. Elias Phillips, of Andover, was a 
Yankee; that is to say, he had a full fund 
of curiosity. He saw the sign and the 
crowd, and he looked down at Eebecca. 

“Shall we step in a moment and see what 
sort of a meeting is going on here?” he 
said, and it must be said for him that he 
had no suspicion that William Procter was 
the speaker in the hall. 

Eebecca murmured something in as- 
sent, and in a few moments the two found 
themselves caught in the jam of the 
crowd, and were being carried into the 
hall. The majority were miners, but 
there were a few women. The professor 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 267 



“ 'THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOH YOU, REBECCA,’ SAID 
THE PROFESSOR.” 



268 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


tightened his hold of his umbrella. Some 
one pushed his hat over his eyes, but he 
caught it before it was knocked off his 
head, and at last he and Eebecca were in- 
side the room, and fairly pushed into 
seats about two-thirds of the way from the 
front. It happened that the seats were 
next the broad aisle leading up to the plat- 
form. 

Rebecca Phillips will recall as long as 
she lives, the vivid impression of that 
night. The room was brilliantly lighted. 
Light was one of the things that Pyramid 
lavished with an unsparing hand, and Wil- 
liam Procter knew its value in a place of 
preaching as well as in a gambling house. 

He had already come upon the platform 
with another man, and began to speak 
while the crowd was still coming in. He 
had, at last, made a convert, and he was a 
powerful one, for he had been a profession- 
al gambler, well known to every other 
gambler in the camp. He had come one 
night to hear the ‘young feller from Bos- 
ton say his little piece,’ and the Holy Spir- 
it had found and claimed him. He w^as as 
truly converted as was Saul of Tarsus, and 
as eager to save life now as he had been 
before to destroy it. 

So William, exhausted himself by his 
efforts, continued for so long, rejoicing in 
such an ally as this, had brought him in 
this night to illustrate the gambler’s 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 269 


tricks. The ex-gambler had brought with 
him a complete set of his old gambling ap- 
paratus, and setting it all out on the front 
of the platform, he proceeded, after a very- 
simple account of his own conversion, to 
show the crowd how helpless the young 
men were in the hands of the professional 
gambler. 

For half an hour the crowd fascinated 
by the sight of this professional gambler 
and the demonstration he made with the 
faro table and the wheels of chance and 
his skillful manipulation of cards and 
dice, remained quiet, breathlessly watch- 
ing and listening. 

Then, suddenly, some one in the rear of 
the hall, fired a revolver towards the stage. 
The plastering fell down from the wall 
just above William’s head where the bul- 
let had struck. 

Instantly there was a yell from the au- 
dience. Shouts of “Fair play!” “No shoot- 
ing!” “Put ’em out!” rose all over the 
house. In the midst of all the confusion, 
the converted gambler stood calmly by his 
taole waiting for a chance to be heard. 
William dusted the plaster from his coat 
sleeve and remained seated. And it 
seemed as if tne confusion would die down 
when every one was startled by the sight 
of a tall figure in black, with a lady on his 
arm, pushing down the aisle towards the 
platform. 


270 


THE MIR ACTE AT MARKHAM 


The professor was roused. He saw one 
of his old seminary students in peril of his 
life as he supposed, (and in spite of the 
usual lack of order in Pyramid it is pos- 
sible the professor was not far wrong that 
night), and he drd not intend to sit quietly 
still and have him shot at. 

Waving his umbrella and saying some- 
thing in a loud voice, (Rebecca afterwards 
declared it was a fragment of Hebrew 
from one of the imprecatory Psalms), he 
dragged Rebecca up on the platform and 
then turned around in front of William. 

William rose, and as he did so another 
revolver shot rang out. The professor 
swung his umbrella like a baseball club, 
as if he thought to ward off the bullet by 
hitting it, and the shot struck a lamp 
chimney on the table and put out the 
light. 

The whole crowd of men in the hall rose, 
and a tremendous scene of confusion at 
once began. Above all the din and noise 
one voice rose clear and distinct: 

“Don’t shoot the lady!” It was Wil- 
liam’s voice, and he pushed Rebecca be- 
hind him as he shouted. But Rebecca the 
next moment turned and looked up at her 
lover. And not even the vivid scene of 
that strange meeting, and the unques- 
tioned peril that now confronted William, 
could prevent the color from mounting to 
her cheeks as she said: “If there is any 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


271 


danger, William, let me share it with you.” 

And it seemed to William Procter at that 
moment, that he was justified in feeling 
that all he had suffered was as nothing 
by the side of the joy he now experienced. 
It was not an ideal place to make love in, 
but William said, bending down nearer to 
her while he still protected her, “Do you 
mean, Rebecca, that you will share it with 
me forever?” 

“Yes,” replied Rebecca Phillips, prompt- 
ly. And after that, William did not seem 
to care about anything else. Only as his 
look went out again over the mob in the 
hall, his lips moved in a most passionate 
prayer as he stood before her, that no 
harm might befall the woman who had in 
this bewildering manner been restored to 
his life after the long and heart-breaking 
silence of days and nights of sorrow. 


CHAPTER XXI. 
REBECCA SURRENDERS. 



FTER William had cried 


out, “Don’t shoot the 
lady!” there had been a 
moment’s lull in the con- 
fusion. The converted 
gambler, a man who had 
spent most of his life in 
rough mining camps, and 
knew the character of 


the crowd that he faced, seized that mo- 
ment to appeal to the men nearest him to 
restore order. 

The men down in front were sober, for 
the most part, and the sight of Rebecca’s 
beautiful face, pale, but not frightened, 
won the chivalrous sentiment of the mi- 
ners who were near enough to notice that 
up on the platform was some unwritten 
romance in which the old man with the 
umbrella, and the young woman and Wil- 
liam were leading characters. 

A determined cry went up from the front 
of the hall: 

“No shooting!” One well-known miner 
mounted the platform by the side of the 
converted gambler and, drawing his own 
revolver, threatened to shoot down the 
first man that ventured to fire at a defence- 
less preacher, an old man and a girl. 


The miracee at markham 


273 


Quickly the disturbance died down. 
The men began to take their seats, and in 
what seemed to Professor Phillips like an 
incredibly short time, everybody was ready 
to listen again to William Procter. 

He canie to the front of the platform, 
after his converted friend had said a few 
words more, and began to comment on the 
gambler’s exposure of the profession. As 
he went on he knew that for the first time 
since the meetings began, he really had 
the crowd in the grip of his appeal to it. 
How could he help preaching the best he 
knew, when all the time he was conscious 
that on the platform sat the woman in all 
the world to him, the one who had said 
only a few moments before that she was 
willing to share her life with his forever? 
With an inspiration born of that knowl- 
edge, added to the fact that his puritan 
convictions on the matter of gambling and 
every vice really amounted to the most 
intense horror of evil, he went on to make 
a passionate appeal that filled the heart of 
Rebecca with pride for him, astonishment 
at his gift of speech, and almost tearful 
thankfulness at what seemed to her like a 
marvelous escape for her lover. Even now 
as she listened to his unsparing denuncia- 
tion of vice, she trembled for fear some 
angry miner in the crowd would shoot at 
him again. She did not know until sever- 
al days afterwards, that William had been 


274 


THE MIRACEK AT MARKHAM 


shot at several times that spring since the 
meetings began. 

But there was no more disturbanee that 
night, and when William was through, the 
crowd went out quietly enough, really im- 
pressed by the events of the evening. A 
few of the young men erowded up around 
the platform to examine the gambler’s ap- 
X^aratus more closely, and he took occasion 
to give them another exhibition of his skill 
at close quarters. 

While he was busy with his exhibition, 
William was fast asking and answering 
questions, looking at Eebecca and her 
father as if he were in a dream, a very 
happy dream, but one from which he al- 
most dreaded to awake at any moment. 

However, the sight of Professor Phillips 
and his umbrella, which were very real and 
tangible, gradually prevailed upon his 
mind, and when the crowd had all gone out 
of the hall and William and Eebecca and 
the professor had come out upon the side- 
walk, William was very much awake and 
knew it. 

It was somewhat late, but the professor 
invited William to come to the hotel and 
have some supper with him and Eebecca. 
He had already explained how they had 
come into the hall on their way to the 
hotel. 

So a few minutes later, William was seat- 
ed at the table of the “Pyramid,” which 


NO SHOOTING ! 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 275 




■y f 




4 -^ 


/ 


r 


* 

•w 




276 THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 

kept late suppers for the benefit of the 
habits of the camp, and while he was not 
hungry, he ate for the pleasure of being 
there in company with Kebecca and the 
professor who still had a great many ques- 
tions to ask about the meetings, William’s 
change of plans, his future expectations 
and so on. 

“Do you always speak under fire?” 
asked Professor Phillips. 

“No, not always,” replied William, laugh- 
ing. “The meeting tonight was more ex- 
citing than usual.” He looked at Rebecca 
as he spoke, and she knew he was not re- 
ferring to the shooting. 

“Yes, I should think it might be a good 
school of experience for some of our young 
preachers in the seminary. But if the 
average congregation shot at the preacher 
every time he said something they did not 
like, don’t you think it would have a ten- 
dency to discourage a young preacher 
somewhat?” 

“I should think it might,” replied Wil- 
liam, laughing again. “He would always 
be sure of a wide-awake congregation, 
however. That would be some gain, 
wouldn’t it?” 

So the meal progressed with two light 
hearts, at least at the table, and the pro- 
fessor as he glanced at his daughter and 
his former seminary pupil, wondered at 
the ever new and refreshing story of which 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


277 


the world never €ires, even if it does some*- 
times wonder, the story of love. 

When William went back to his boarding 
place that night, he carried with him the 
professor’s promise to visit the reduction 
mills the next morning. Kebecca wanted 
to see everything new, and found time to 
say to William that she wanted particular- 
ly to see the place where he had met with 
his accident. 

William stared at this request, for he 
did not know everything yet of a woman’s 
strange choices, but he was only too glad 
to have Kebecca accompany her father. So 
the next morning the three visited together 
several of the famous mines of Pyramid 
and finally came up to the Golconda. 

William was on very good terms with the 
superintendent, although he had never 
been able to make friends with Sewell, the 
owner. The party had no trouble in gain- 
ing entrance to the mill, and they were 
soon standing in the doorway looking in- 
to the furnace room and at the two mixers 
as they rolled steadily around on their 
endless track. 

They had been standing there but a 
moment, when the professor was attracted 
by something in the chemical room close 
by, and stepped in there, leaving Kebecca 
and William alone. 

“Tell me all about it, William,” said Ke- 
becca, as she stood watching the grim 


278 THE MIRACEK at MARKHAM 

machines as they crashed alternately in- 
to and out of the roaring furnace. It was 
not a morbid curiosity on her part, but 
she had felt as if she had been deprived of 
knowing from William at the time he vras 
convalescing, all about the accident, and 
now' that her lover w'as restored to her, 
she w^anted him to tell her everything. 

So William told her all about it, and he 
was not unmindful of Francis Kandall’s 
part, either. The mention of his name 
caused Rebecca to ask a question. 

“Isn’t he, — didn’t I hear somew^here that 
he was soon to have a call to one of the 
large churches in New' York?” 

“I haven’t heard of it,” said William. 
“He is in New York now'. I had a letter 
from him a few days ago. Have you read 
his book, ‘What the King Said?’ ” 

“Yes, it’s a beautiful story. There was 
one part in it that made me think of our 
experience.” 

“Perhaps it w'as his own,” replied Wil- 
liam. “He and my sister Jane — I don’t 
know^ that I ought to tell — but I am sure 
he and Jane love each other, but they have 
had some misunderstanding.” 

“Oh, your sister Jane!” cried Rebecca. 
The two had crossed through the furnaee 
room, and were now standing by the open 
door on the other side, the door through 
which Francis Randall had stepped to res- 
cue William. “Your sister Jane! Did I 


THE MIRACI,^ AT MARKHAM 279 


tell you she sent me the paper telling about 
your accident, but not a word of your re- 
covery? And then she answered father’s 
telegram and addressed it to me. Did she 
know about our quarrel?” 

“Yes,” said William, and he told Rebec- 
ca about the photograph and the incident 
that occurred just before he left home. 

After that they stood in the doorway 
looking out at the wonderful panorama of 
mountains. The professor was staying a 
long time in the chemical room. It is 
possible he found the chemicals more in- 
teresting than the company of these two 
persons who seemed to care very little 
for anything or anyone except them- 
selves. 

“What are you going to do out here, 
William?” Rebecca at last asked shyly, 
when she discovered that he had- stopped 
looking at the mountains and was looking 
at her. 

“I don’t know exactly,” replied William 
slowly. 

“Will you keep on with the meetings?” 

“What do you think I had better do?”- 
asked William, looking into Rebecca’s eyes 
and seeing the answer there. 

“You are in danger,” faltered Rebecca, 
“but — ” and the same old puritan stern- 
ness of moral obligation showed in her 
face as in her lover’s, “if it is your duty 
you must do it.” 


28 o 


THE MIRACLE AT MARKHAM 


“I have thought some of going back to 
Andover,” said William with a pause. 

Kebecca’s face turned rosy red, but she 
made no answer. 

“1 must do something to provide for my- 
self. When these meetings here are over, 
I shall be entirely out of means, Rebecca,” 
William pontinued with a frankness that 
she liked in him better than any other 
quality. “The fact is, my experience out 
here has shown me my need of thorough 
preparation if I am going to preach to 
men.” 

“Do you mean that you are going back 
into the ministry?” asked Rebecca, sud- 
denly. 

William looked at her, and it is certainly 
due him to say that not even the possibil- 
ity of losing the heaven he had so unex- 
pectedly gained in Rebecca, could prevent 
him from telling her the exact truth. 

“No, Rebecca,” he said, and he was very 
pale, and his voice trembled as he said it. 
“No, I have not decided that I can work 
best in a church. But I do know that T 
have had grow up in me since these meet- 
ings began, a great longing to preach to 
men. Tf that is to be my life work, I need 
very thorough and careful preparation for 
it. If I go back to Andover, I can finish 
my studies which I carried up to the 
Senior year. But I am still in doubt of 
my place of work when I am ready for it.” 


THB MIRACI,® AT MARKHAM 28 1 

Rebecca had been looking at the 
ground. She now raised her eyes, and if 
there was a suspicion of a tear in one of 
them it was not a tear of regret at her 
lover’s lack of courage. Still she did not 
say anything at first, and William took her 
hand, there being none of the men in the 
mill looking, and said — “Rebecca, whether 
I do my work of preaching in a church or 
in some place like last night, is your 
promise good, — will you share my life with 
me?” 

“Yes,” replied Rebecca, looking up at 
him and smiling, and this time there was 
no doubt as to the presence of the tear, for 
it shone on her cheek, “Yes, I will go with 
you and work with you anywhere.” 

“This is a very fine view out here,” said 
the professor suddenly stepping through 
the doorway. 

“It certainly is,” said William, but he 
was not looking at the mountains. 

“What do you think, Rebecca?” asked 
the professor with a twinkle of the eyes 
that proved he was not altogether stupid 
even outside the realm of the Minor Proph- 
ets. “Don’t you enjoy it more than the 
scenery around Andover?” 

“Yes, father, I think I do,” and then Re- 
becca laughed, and after a moment Wil- 
liam and the professor joined her. It is 
easy to laugh when the heart is light. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE MARKHAM UNION. 



WO days later when 
the professor and 
Rebecca said good-by to 
William and started 
back to Andover, Wil- 
liam had talked over 
matters with the profess- 
or and decided to re- 
turn to the seminary 
in time to begin the fall 
term. Meanwhile he 
would finish his meetings in Pyramid and 
then spend the summer in earning money 
to help him during the seminary year. 

The last thing the professor said as the 
train moved away, was, “Don’t get shot, 
William. We Have need of you in some 
pulpit!” 

Rebecca did not speak, but she looked 
her fears and hopes. William stood on 
the platform and his face was pale, he 
showed the marks of the excitement he 
had been experiencing, but his happinss 
was unmistakable, and he did not seem 
to fear anything now that Rebecca was his 
again. 

He went back to his work that evening, 
and for another two weeks he did wonders. 
There is no leverage like that of love in 


THB MIRACI.E AT MARI^:aAM 283 


the heart under such conditions as faced 
a man like William Procter. Matters also 
took a turn in his favor. The spring elec- 
tion came on. A new mayor was placed 
in office, a man who believed in law and its 
enforcement. The paper changed hands, 
and the new editor came to the assistance 
of the movement to outlaw the gamblers. 
Mr. Clark, the Congregational minister, re- 
covered his health and supported William 
nobly. The result of all this was a change 
of public sentiment, and at last a cleaning 
up of matters generally. William had the 
satisfaction, before he closed his meet- 
ings, of knowing that the reign of the 
gambling saloon was over, and that a large 
part of that result was due to his own ef- 
forts. But he always gave credit for all 
that to Francis Kandall, who had begun 
the movement. 

With the beginning of summer he found 
himself penniless and with four months 
yet between him and the opening of the 
seminary. He at once applied for a place 
as superintendent of a new mill in Pyra- 
mid. The mines had developed wonder- 
fully, and the boom times was upon the 
camp . 

He secured the position, and at once re- 
turned to his old work at good wages, 
with the understanding that he was to be 
released in October. And as he went 
about his physical work even in the chem- 


284 MIRAC1«K at MARKHAM 

ical and mixing room, he saw Kebecca’s 
face, and he felt daily growing up in him 
the most passionate desire to preach to 
men as his life work. He identified him- 
self with Mr. Clark’s church, and did all the 
teaching he could in connection with a 
mission started in the lower town. And 
he worked and waited, looking forward to 
his Andover life, determined that this time 
he should make no mistake and feeling 
quite confident that somewhere in the 
world would be found a place for him, 
even if he still felt unable to work 
through the church as his best avenue for 
ministering to men. 

Meanwhile, Markham entered upon its 
summer life, facing a coming conflict with 
the saloon element that promised to test 
the strength of the church union that had 
already been so well begun. 

In the first place, the organization of the 
new Christian “Daily” proved to be a 
task of tremendous difficulty. Naturally 
enough, the existing paper in Markham 
fought for its own life with a desperation 
heightened by the growing knowledge on 
the part of the editor, of a combined 
church against him and all the whisky 
power. 

But at last in spite of all difficulties the 
new paper was started. Every subscriber 
was a shareholder. The chureh member- 
ship of all the churches in Markham made 


the: miracIvE; at markham 285 


up the great majority of stockholders. 
The plan proposed by John Procter and 
Hugh Cameron was practically carried out 
with some changes of detail. Politically 
the paper was non-partisan in everything 
municipal. In national affairs, its columns 
were open to discussion and statement 
from all parties, and the constant purpose 
was to make all political measures of any 
l^arty, honestly and fairly advocated, help 
the nation as a whole. In other words, the 
paper represented, politically, whatever 
was for the best good of all the people, 
and recognized the fact that there were 
good men and good measures, patriotic 
men and patriotic measures in all the par- 
ties. 

But on the subject of the saloon in Mark- 
ham, it was clearly understood from the 
beginning by every subscriber that the 
paper stood for its complete extinction. 
There was to be no compromise, no tem- 
porizing, nothing but the complete prohi- 
bition of the saloon as an institution. 
The local election for mayor and council 
in Markham, occurred in the fall, and the 
new paper began, with its first issue, to 
map out the plan of campaign and agitate 
the question of local option. 

The whisky interests had always taken 
every move of the Christian people against 
it heretofore, as more or less of a joke. 
The few lonesome voices raised against it 


286 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


in one church or another now and then, 
had never alarmed the saloon in the least. 
The saloon understood perfectly well that 
the churches of Markham were divided, 
and especially of no account in any com- 
bined effort in the way of votes. There 
was not a minister in Markham, before the 
union movement had begun, who had any 
influence whatever with his church mem- 
bers when it came to votes. The church 
member might respect his pastor and even 
love him greatly, yet if the minister urged 
him to vote against the saloon he never 
dreamed of doing anything of the kind if 
the vote meant going against the wishes of 
his party. The fact is, that up to the 
time when the churches began to come 
together to overthrow the saloon, Mark- 
ham had been run on a strictly partisan 
basis, and not even professed Christian 
discipleship had changed a man’s political 
action in the matter of votes, when his 
own party was in danger of defeat. 

The year’s history, however, had done 
wonders for the inner life of Markham. 
The “Praying Squares” had been a power- 
ful influence to bring the Christians to- 
gether. The Holy Spirit who had moved 
so strongly the heart of Charles Harris 
and Dean Randall and Mr. Brown, had 
wrought this transforming upon many a 
business man and chiirch member in Mark- 
ham. The publishing of the new Chris- 


THE MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 287 


tian paper brought men of different par- 
ties together closer than ever before, and 
made possible the campaign against the 
whisky forces which now began to realize 
that something unusual was taking place. 
They had paid no attention to the church 
meetings or even the praying squares. 
But the appearance of the new paper 
waked up every saloon man in Markham. 

It was almost ludicrous to notice the ef- 
fect of the first number of The Markham 
Union upon the liquor interests. 

A brief conversation between two men 
who had property interests in saloons in 
Markham, will give some idea of the im- 
pression made by the paper. The two men 
lived in Columbus, where they had large 
brewery interests, and sub-let to saloons in 
different towns, Markham among the rest. 

“Noticed this new paper from Mark- 
ham?” asked one of the brewers of the 
other, as he took up a number of “The 
Markham Union,” which had in some way 
come into the office. 

“No. What about it?” 

“Why, there’s a new paper started in 
opposition to the Markham .Journal. The 
queer thing about it is that it is run alto- 
gether by church members.” 

“That so?” asked the other man indiffer- 
ently, as he lighted a cigar. 

“Look here!” the first man continued a 
little roughly, “it may be a more seridus 


288 


THB MIRACI.E AT MARKHAM 


matter than 3 "ou think. The new paper 
seems to have it in for the saloons, pretty 
heavy.” 

“Periodical religions spasm of the 
churches against the rum traffic?” 

“No,” replied his companion irritably. 
“It’s more than that. You don’t seem to 
catch on to this. Every church in Mark- 
ham, including the Catholic, is a share- 
holder in this paper, and every minister is 
an editor. Some of the best business men 
in the place are subscribers and supporters 
of it, and here in this first number they de- 
clare that one of the first objects of the 
paper is to run the saloon out of Markham. 
At the fall election the question of local 
option comes up. This is not just a ser- 
mon or a set of resolutions against our 
business men. This is a daily paper, do 
you realize that fact?” 

The other man waked up and said short- 
ly, “Gimme the paper.” He looked it over 
carefully and Kis face began to take on a 
more serious look. 

“Say, this is no religious convention pass- 
ing resolutions, is it? We need to look 
sharp. How much have we invested in 
Markham?” 

The other man made a rapid calculation. 

“Fifteen saloons, say an average of 
twelve hundred apiece. About $20,000 first 
and last. To say nothing of stock on hand 
and to be furnished. Can you run up to 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


209 



“‘noticed this new paper EKOM .'ilARKHAM?” 


‘uoi|sanb ugo^bs aq; uo xit:^s daaq aq ^uqx 
uoixipuoo uo os JO puEsnoqx- xooo b dn i.nd 
OX- pajajfo I ‘Aioxs ui Suiuioa ^auoui ‘du 
pjBq iCxq.ajd ajaAv ^aqx ^^Bqx paujuax I puB 
‘qojnqo aqx SuiuioCpB jadBqa b pimq o; 
Sui^j:^ SBAi aq pjBaq j -^saijd oqoqxB^ aqx 
‘sTjjoj^ jaq^XB^ aas o^. cxuaAv i ’su :xsuibSb 
pi^os SBAV UMOX axoqM aqx- i^iJBau ji sb 
pauiaag •raBqqjBj\[ ui ^b^s aA\ ji spuBq 
jno uo cxq^q Siq b :).oS aA^OAi ‘si ^ob^„ 

•ajaq:^ 

qooxxno aqi jo ^jodaj ituiooxS b qoBq 
(XqSnojq puB SiCBp oa^.^. pa^fB^s ‘uiBqqjBj^ 
oq. ^isiA B apBui uiaqx- jo auo qaaAv X^Bqx 

•sjiBjfB JO ajBjs A\.au aqj 
jsaSip oj SuT^jj jua[is ajoAv sjaAvajq oavj 
aqj uaqj puy uaujjBd siq piBS ^^^qa ‘ajB 
iCaqj uaqAv sn qjiAV dn qB aq x^iav jJm 

,jazBjo uo[ujq qajnq^ sjqj qjiA\ 
qanjjs uaaq aABq suAvo^ jaqjo aqj jo aubu 
ifqonq ’suavoj jsaq jno jo auo uaaq s^Cbav 
- jB sji itCbav^Cub ‘raBqqjBj\[ aSjn^ ‘uad 
-dBq iCBUi jBqAN. ^uq^aj ou s^ajaqj ‘jnqj aqi^ 
jadBd ifq.Bp b unj oj jaqjaSoj jaS ubo ^Caqj 
JI J^a»5 ’ifiiuiooxS UBLU jaqjo aqj pajid 
-aj .,‘auiij jsjq aqj aq q^ji ‘op iCaqj ji„ 

1^0^ op J^qAV 

iqa ‘auiij uoTjaa^a sauioa ji uaqAV jaqjaS 
-oj ajOA q^ifaqj asoddng 'siqj aqi^ jaqjaS 
-oj jaS oj XBap Avau b qanjjs aABq jsnui 
axdoad qojnqo aqx 'asoddns j ‘oj aABq;,, 

^ ..isjajjBui 

jaAO qoox puB ‘oavj jo i^Bp b ui uiBqq jbj^ 

iMVH:s[Hvi\r XV aiDvaiivE anx c6z 


' THS MIRACI.E; AT MARKHAM 29I 

and — well — I came very near being kicked 
out of the house. You never saw such a 
rage in a Catholic priest anywhere. 
Somehow, the whole town seems changed. 
They say it’s the result of their church 
union. Why, even the Episcopal Dean 
hob-nobs with the Methodist and Baptist 
and other brethren, as if they were all 
alike. While I was there, one of the old 
men who has been preaching in one of the 
little churches, died, and it was common 
talk on the street that the church would 
not call a new man, but go in with some 
other church. The millenium seems to 
have struck Markham,” the man contin- 
ued with a coarse laugh. “I almost looked 
to see angels flying around the streets 
on Sunday. No open postofiice, no ice 
wagons, no drug stores opened, except 
two hours, and then they wouldn’t sell 
anything but medicine, no cigar stores 
or fruit stores going, — it was blamed 
queer, I tell you, by the side of what the 
town used to be. Why, they told me the 
hired girls in Markham were beginning to 
go to chiirch and sitting in the same pews 
with the people they worked for, so as to 
remove the social stigma attached to the 
hired girl profession! Bah! Give me a 
drink of something to wash the sancti- 
moniousness of Markham oat of my sys- 
tem.” 

He reached out a hand for a bottle on 


29^ the miracle at MARKHAM 

the table, and his companion looked at 
him sourly. 

“Sanctimoniousness is very well if you 
want to call names, but is it the sort that 
votes as it prays? That’s all we care for. 
If it is, we might as well shut up shop in 
Markham.” 

. “I think we might as well,” said the man 
who had been to Markham. And he said it 
with an oath. “The game is up there, but 
we’ll fight it out just the same.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRATERNITY. 



O when fall came, 
Markham was the 
scene of a whisky 
war that raged as 
fiercely as any 
contest ever 
fought in the 
state. But the 
saloon element, 
for the first time 
in all its histor3'', 
faced a solidly united church, united not 
simply to denounce the saloon, but to kill 
it, and actually drive it out of the place 
with good solid votes going one way re- 
gardless of all partisanship. Added to this 
fact was the influence of the Christian 
daily which entered the homes of the peo- 
ple every evening and soon became recog- 
nized as the champion of righteousness. 
The saloon men hated and feared the 
“Markham Union” as they had never hated 
and feared anything on earth. Next to the 
fact of a united church they faced the fact 
of that printed thunderbolt directed at 
their unholy business. As much as they 
might have scored at prayer meetings and 
sermons and church influences, they could 
not scoff at what was actually visible in 


294 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


type. Oh, for the time to come speedily 
in America when the Christian church 
shall have and own as part of its armory 
in the battle of the Lord, this mighty en- 
gine, a Christian press, daily voicing the 
mind and will of Jesus Christ in the 
world ! 

Meanwhile, as summer came on, and the 
whisky fight grew daily in fierceness, 
other matters were shaping which also 
have much to do with “The Miracle at 
Markham.” 

The event which the brewer mentioned 
to his partner, the death of one of the min- 
isters and the action of the church in de- 
ciding not to call another man was, in 
reality, one of the most interesting events 
of the year, especially to John Procter 
and Hugh Cameron. 

The minister who died was Lev. Alfred 
Towne, of the Free-Will Baptist Church. 
He was quite an old man, had been in poor 
health for several years, and unable to 
preach continuously. The membership of 
his church numbered some sixty odd, 
nearly all elderly people scattered over 
Markham and out in the country. 

The church building of the Free-Will 
Baptists was a fairly good sized room in 
good repair, and it stood in the lower 
town near the factory district. In fact, it 
was the only church in Markham that 
could be said to be^ within physical touch 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


295 


of the factory people. Perhaps a younger 
man in such a church would have recog- 
nized his opportunity and turned the 
church into the channel of institutional 
work; but the Rev. Alfred Towne had been 
too old and feeble to attempt anything of 
the sort. 

The death of this minister brought be- 
fore the members of the Free-Will Bap- 
tist Church the entire situation. They 
were not strong, financially. They were 
close by a very strange and difficult prob- 
lem. They had few young people to do 
any work. What was the wisest thing for 
them to do? 

It happened that about the time Mr. 
Towne died, the Salvation Army w^as hav- 
ing trouble to lease a hall for its meet- 
ings. Capt. George Andrews had, from the 
first, been outspoken in his attitude to- 
wards the saloon, and had often taken 
public part with the ministers of Mark- 
ham in their temperance rallies. 

The Army had been renting an old ware- 
house room which belonged to the brew- 
ers of Columbus, and was rented through 
their agent in Markham. But the fight 
against the saloon created the most in- 
tense feeling on the part of the whisky 
men against all parties who had sided 
against them, and when it w’as time to re- 
new the rent of the building, the Army 
was curtly told to go elsewhere and 


296 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


was flatly refused the use of the building. 

The captain was an educated man of 
more than usual determination. He looked 
over the ground and saw that there was no 
other place near the factory district that 
was suitable for his meetings. Then sud- 
denly he stopped one day as he was going 
by the Free-Will Baptist Church, and 
looked at it. That was about a week af- 
ter the minister had died. 

The captain applied to the oflicers of the 
church and asked if there was any possi- 
bility of his getting the use of the build- 
ing certain evenings in the week. 

The church oflicers were astonished at 
his request, but asked for time to consider 
the matter. At a congregational meeting, 
the matter was thoroughly discussed and 
also the question as to continuing their or- 
ganization and calling another pastor. 

The action they Anally took would have 
been impossible two years before. But 
who measures the results that are pos- 
sible when the Divine Spirit is a factor? 
That He had been moving through the 
hearts of the people of Markham was evi- 
dent from what this one church now did 
at this crisis in its affairs. 

They voted to give the Salvation Army 
the use of their church building every 
night during the week, and also to help in 
the work the Arm.y was doing in the fac- 
tory district. Already under the direction 


THB MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


297 


of the Union churches by committees ap- 
pointed following the plans suggested by 
Procter and Cameron, a work had been 
begun in the factory district in which the 
Army and the churches were sharing the 
responsibility. 

The Free-Will Baptist people now be- 
gan by degrees to share more and more in 
this particular work. Gradually the mem- 
bers, after the church decision not to 
call a pastor, joined some one of the other 
churches, but continued the work among 
the factory hands, using the old church 
building as the meeting place. It thus 
cam© about in time that the Salvation 
Army with its company of enthusiastic, 
willing, self-sacrificing, but often unedu- 
cated and untrained material, worked 
hand in hand and side by side with mem- 
bers of a church who had received a cer- 
tain well-defined and very useful training 
in a more educated and refined Christian 
type of living. It came to be a fact which 
the members of the church afterwards 
acknowledged gladly, that they had never 
been stimulated to so much real practical 
Christianity as when they entered into tliis 
union of work with the Army. And on the 
other hand, the members of the Army 
found out that their work was more last- 
ing, and the results more permanent and 
useful because a church discipline and in- 
telligence of training were added to their 


298 the; mirac];e; at markham 


own enthusiasm and zeal. There is no 
special good reason why a Salvation Army 
should do the work which the church 
itself in the early centuries gladly 
did. There was a feeling in Markham 
when the Salvation Army first came into it 
that it was able to do what the church 
could not do. In other words, as one of 
the members of the Army said one night, 
the church was willing to let the Army do 
its dirty kitchen work while the church 
sat in the parlor and dusted the fine furni- 
ture and polished the plate glass wundows. 

The union of effort on the part of the 
Army and the Free-Will Baptists proved 
to be a very happy and useful union. The 
factory district problem began to be 
solved. The members of the older church- 
es were heartily welcomed into other 
churches. And Markham took another 
step upward in real power because another 
useless branch of the vine was lopped off. 
If John Procter’s statement that there 
w^ere twice as many churches in Markham 
as it needed, was not altogether a proph- 
ecy of what was to be, at least the w^ay 
seemed to be growing clearer for more 
consecration of church effort towards a 
common end. 

In all this work of the churches, in their 
preparation for the coming election and 
in their attack of the factory district 
problem, Francis Eandall had a prominent 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


299 


part. He had been absent in New York 
longer than he had planned at first. He 
had made arrangements with the publish- 
ers for another book, and on his way back 
to Markham he had partly blocked out the 
details of the story. But his thoughts 
were more than ever filled with Jane. 
Should he speak to her when he reached 
home? Was it not her place to speak first, 
or at least to let him know that she loved 
him still? But had she not done so in 
dismissing Mark Wilson? What more 
could a woman say without being open to 
the charge of a boldness which no man of 
sensitive nature could endure in the wom- 
an he really loved? 

He was unable to reach a conclusion in 
the matter when he reached Markham, arid 
so he simply began his church work again, 
but every hour added to his honest per- 
plexity concerning the right course to 
take. 

The second day after his return he was 
obliged to consult John Procter about 
soriie detail of church work, and after a 
little hesitation he went over to the par- 
sonage. 

He had, since his first return to Mark- 
ham after his father’s death, always avoid- 
ed meeting John Procter at his own house, 
in order to escape the embarrasment of a 
possible meeting with Jane. But he 
thought of that possibility now with a 


300 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


more or less definite hope that he might 
meet her. 

It was nearly dusk when Kandall called^ 
and John Procter was in his study. He 
greeted Francis warmly, and they began 
the discussion of the business that had 
called them together. 

They had only just begun, when Mr. 
Procter was called out of the house by a 
summons from a sick neighbor. He asked 
Kandall to wait for his return, as he 
thought he would not be gone long. 

So Francis remained in the study, and 
the dusk deepened in it. He sat in a rev- 
erie which deepened with the darkness. 
He had a strongly j)oetic temperament 
with all his practical energy, and in his 
thought of Jane, as he waited, he grew 
so absorbed that it was only when some 
words were spoken which sounded famil- 
iar to him, that he realized the fact that 
Mrs. Procter and Jane had come into the 
next room, and ignorant of his presence in 
the house, were talking about him. 

“Oh, mother,” Jane was saying in a voice 
that betrayed great emotion, “it is of no 
use for me to hoi)e any more. I killed 
the best heart that ever lived with my 
foolish speech i^bout being tired of the 
shifts and expedients of a poor minister’s 
daughter when I told him I could never 
make him happy.” 

Something unusual had stirred Jane that 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


301 


afternoon, and in a great breaking down 
of all her previous self-control, she had 
come home and made a full confession of 
everything to her mother. 

“But I am sure, Jane,” her mother said, 
and Francis Randall could not help hear- 
ing every word, although he had risen to 
his feet and taken a step towards the sit- 
ting room to let the two women know he 
was there, “I am sure that Francis Ran- 
dall loves you still. Hh came every day to 
inquire about you while you were ill, and 
I heard of him many times standing at 
the corner looking up at the room. Young 
men don’t do that on bitter nights, unless 
they care something for some one. And, 
in fact, Jane, he told me that he still loved 
you. That was at the first of your ill- 
ness!” 

There was a silence of a moment, and 
Francis Randall would have given a good 
deal to see Jane’s face just then. He stood 
irresolute, about on the point of making 
his presence known, when Jane spoke 
again, and he waited, with the feeling of 
shame that any man of refined feelings 
has, to hear himself spoken of by per- 
sons who do not know he is listening; and 
yet he seemed also to feel that what was 
about to happen would excuse him for the 
part he took. 

“But, mother, it is impossible for me — 
how can he ever think that I, — mother — 


302 THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

he is famous and will be rich from the sale 
of his book — what would he think if---” 
Here, Jane buried her face in her hands 
and Kandall, standing there in the dusk, 
had a great light flash into his mind. He 
took another step forward, and stopped, 
for Jane had risen from the table, and he 
could hear her coming towards the study. 

He stepped back towards John Procter’s 
desk as Jane entrered, and she, seeing his 
figure, dimly, supposed, at first, it was her 
father. She had come into the study sud- 
denly, with the impulse that had often sent 
her there for comfort when she wa« a little 
girl. 

“Jane,” said Randall, speaking in a low 
voice, but very distinctly, “I heard all you 
said. Is it true? Do you still love me?” 

Jane was not a nervous girl, but this un- 
expected sight of her old lover, and his 
direct method of speaking to her after a 
silence of several months, was enough to 
startle anyone. 

„ She did not scream, however, and as 
Randall stood still, by the desk, she did 
not retreat. Only she dropped her head 
after the first movement of startled awak- 
ening to his presence and remained very 
still. 

“I couldn’t help hearing what you said, 
Jane,” and Randall made a movement as 
if he intended to walk towards her. “If 
I understood rightly you think I am rich 


THE MIRACIvE at MARKHAM 303 

from the sale of my books. And you 
would not marry me now for fear I might 
think you are marrying me because of my 
money. We will not count in the fame. 
Is that right, Jane? If I can prove to you 
that I am still comparatively poor, and not 
famous enough to hurt anybody, will you 
marry me, Jane?” 

The man’s voice had a certain mockery 
in it that was new to Jane’s ears. But 
she was beginning dimly to feel that per- 
haps Paradise was not closed to her. 

,Mrs. Procter, hearing voices, came to the 
study door. 

“Is your father there, Jane?” 

' “No,” said Jane, promptly. “It is Mr. 

Randall. He—” 

“Excuse me, Mr. Randall, if I don’t come 
in,” said Mrs. Procter hurriedly; “I must 
see about getting supper.” And she went 
out into the kitchen and - shut the door. 
Francis Randall blessed the good taste of 
his future mother-in-law as he heard the 
door shut. 

“You have not answered my question 
yet,” said" Francis, slowly. 

“You have not proved what you say you 
can,” replied Jane, demurely. “But won’t 
you take a seat?” 

Jane sat down herself. It is possible 
she began to tremble a little, and did not 
r want to betray herself to him. - . 

He hesitated a moment, and then came 


304 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 


across the room and sat down in a chair 
close to her. Still, as before, he did not 
venture to touch her, although he was 
near enough to see her face in the dusk. 

“If I prove that I am not, and probably 
never will be rich from the sale of my 
books, will you marry me, is that the un- 
derstanding, Jane?” 

“That is not what I said,” answered 
Jane, somewhat indistinctly. 

“I can easily prove it to you; I shall be 
safe in saying that even if the book had a 
constant sale for years, I could never 
make much from it. You are a school 
teacher, Jane, and you can figure out for 
yourself how much I have received from 
the book already after the sale of twenty 
thousand copies at one cent and a half 
each. The book has already ceased to sell 
very much. In another year its sale will 
probably come down to a few copies. That 
is the rule with scores of books that are 
called by the publishers great successes. 
They have a run for a little while, and then 
stop selling. Even a book that Jias a sale 
of ten thousand copies is called a very suc- 
cessful book. At ten per cent royalty, or 
at one and a half cents a copy, the author 
will not grow rich very fast. The general 
public is ignorant of the prices paid to the 
average author for even a successful book. 
Jane, I have not received five hundred 
dollars all told from my t>ook, and the 


THE MIRACTE AT MARKHAM 


305 



“ ‘EXCUSE ME, RANDALL, FOR MAKING YOU WAIT 

SO LONG.’ ” 


3o6 the miracte at markham 

probabilities are that I shall receive less 
than one thousand in all. Do you think 
I am — Jane — do you think I am poor 
enough to ask you to marry me?” 

Jane rose to her feet under an impulse 
she could not define, and liandall rose also 
and sdood beside her. There was just 
light enough left for him to see her face. 
A tear started down her cheek. She turned 
her face towards her lover, and the next 
instant he held her in his arms and she 
was sobbing out something on his 
shoulder. 

“Excuse me, Eandall, for keeping you 
waiting so long — he started his speech of 
apology out in the hall, but as he came in- 
to the study and saw how matters stood, 
he beat a retreat into the sitting room, 
saying as he did so, “Never mind. Our 
business can wait a little longer.” 

“There is one thing, Francis,” Jane was 
saying a few minutes later. “I am a little 
troiibled in my mind about something. 
You know I have said a great many times 
I would never marry a minister. Now that 
I have promised you all you ask, what am 
I to say to that other promise to myself?” 

“I don’t think I can help you out of that 
difficulty, my dear,” said Francis. “In 
fact, I am going to do my best to make you 
break that other promise. It is better 
broken than kept.” 

“There is one way out of it that I see,” 


THB MIRACIvE AT MARKHAM 


307 


continued Jane a little stubbornly to her- 
self. “You are not simply a minister. 
You are an author, as well.” 

“O, fie, Jane! Is that the way you com- 
pound with your conscience?” cried Fran- 
cis Kandall laughing. And then he added 
as Jane looked up at him, “Minister, or 
author, or whatever I may be, you love me 
for myself, don’t you, Jane?” 

“Yes,” replied Jane. “And I would love 
you just the same if you were nothing but 
a minister and — and — poor — and — un- 
known, instead of a rich author making 
five hundred dollars a year.” 

After which unqualified statement, Jane 
laughed lightly again, and for both of 
them the whole world grew young again 
in the light of the best thing in it, after 
their winter of darkness and sorrow. 

When they went into the sitting room, 
Mrs. Procter was bringing in the supper 
in the next room. John Procter was by 
the table reading the evening paper. He 
looked up with a smile. 

Mrs. Procter came to the door between 
the two rooms. 

“We’ll be glad to have you join our fam- 
ily circle for supper,” said Mrs. Procter, 
beaming on the two. JoTin Procter ad- 
ded, “Yes, indeed, better stay.” 

Francis Randall looked at Jane, and 
Jane blushed, but was silent. 

“Well, I don’t know but I will join the 


308 the MIRACEE at MARKHAM 

family^ circle, not only for one meal, but 
for life,” said Bandall. 

The next minute Jane was caught and 
kissed by her mother. John Procter 
sprung up and shook Kandall by the hand 
warmly, and Mrs. Procter greeted him in 
a way that revealed her thankfulness, and 
of all the people in Markham that night, 
it is probably safe to say that there were 
not four genuinely happier people at any 
supper table than those in the old Congre- 
gational parsonage. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING. 


OUR months later, on 
Christmas Day, Jane 
Procter and Francis 
Randall were married. 
It was Jane’s wish to 
be married in her 
father’s study, because 
as she said, she had 
fou^id her lover there, 
and the parlor was 


haunted by the memory of that old scene 
in which she feared she had broken the 
heart of the most faithful, sincere man in 
all the world. As for Francis Randall, he 
would have married Jane in the kitchen, if 
she had preferred that place, and he was 
romantic enough to understand her mo- 
tive. 

So, on that bright Christmas night, with 
holly and evergreen and wreaths of simple 
make adorning the book shelves and the 
one large fire-place, John Procter pro- 
nounced Jane and Francis man and wife 
in the name of the Father and the Son and 
the Holy Ghost. And Francis Randall took 
his wife to the Manse, and together they 
entered hand in hand upon that path 
which is the path of glory always, when it 
is marked out by the love which is the love 


310 


THEi MIRACI,E AT MARKHAM 


of God, of one another, and of the great 
brotherhood. 

On New Year’s Day, a week later, John 
Procter received a letter from William an- 
nouncing the fact that he had decided 
definitely to do his life work through the 
ministry and the church. 

“I have reached this decision, dear 
father,” the letter went on, “after coming 
back to the Seminary. I believe that I can 
serve best by being in line with the regu- 
lar established organization. Next June, 
Rebecca and I shalf be married, and we 
shall be ready to enter any field where we 
may be called. I thank God for all the 
way He has led me, and most of all for the 
helpmeet he has given me.” 

John Procter and Mrs. Procter shed a 
few happy tears over this letter, and that 
.same evening Mr. Procter answered it. A 
part of his answer contains some items of 
interest concerning “The Miracle at Mark- 
ham.” 

“You know something, William, of the 
condition of things here in Markham since 
the churches came together,” John Proc- 
ter wrote, after telling his son of his own 
and his mother’s joy at the contents of his 
letter. “But you cannot fully understand 
all that has happened here without coming 
into the place. 

“Of course, you know we won the fight 
against the whisky men last year at our 


THE MIRACEE AT MARKHAM 3II 

fall election. The saloon is no longer a 
feature of Markham. We owe the suc- 
cess of our campaign against it in large 
measure to our Christian daily, The Mark- 
ham Union. Without that agency I doubt 
if even the union of the churches could 
have won the day, at least in so short a 
time. The paper itself is a success because 
the members stand by it with their adver- 
tising, etc. We have some serious diffi- 
culties, of course, in managing the busi- 
ness, the political part of the paper, etc., 
but on the whole the paper is a great 
power and growing more so every day. 

“I mentioned at the time, the noble as- 
sistance given during the whisky fight by 
the Catholic Church of Markham. The 
relations we sustained to Father Morris 
have deepened into a wider interest in 
common forms of church work. It may be 
said truly that the entire movement which 
has brought the churches of Markham to- 
gether to work for the common good of the 
town, has enlarged our common under- 
standing of one another. We have not 
changed our denominational habits, par- 
ticularly. But we have learned of one 
another. And of no church have we 
learned more than of the Catholic here 
in Markham. Father Morris has worked 
side by side with Protestant ministers for 
temperance, Sunday laws, good order and 
general moral life. 


312 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


“The Ei)iscopal church in Markham has 
also gone through certain experiences since 
our union movement began. Dean Mur- 
ray, the present Dean, has never invited 
Other ministers into the pulpit of Grace 
Cathedral as Dean Kandall did, but so far 
as I can learn, his people would not object 
if he did. Francis is at present somewhat 
in doubt as to the best course to pursue. 
He frequently preaches for me or Hugh 
Cameron or in any other church here. But 
there stands the old church canon which 
forbids the Episcopal clergyman from in- 
viting other ministers into his pulpit. I 
am convinced that time will solve this 
question, and the canon will some day be 
removed or modified. Meanwhile, the Dean 
and Francis work hand in hand with all 
the rest of us, in doing common Christian 
work. Last week in one of the prayer 
squares, Dean ISIurray was the leader of 
the meeting which was held in the house 
of the Cumberland Presbyterian Minister. 

“You say you are ready to enter any 
field to which the Lord may call you after 
you have completed your studies at An- 
dover. I am growing somewhat old and 
feeble in the work, and Hugh Cameron is 
still in his prime. We have been talking it 
over, lately, and I have persuaded him and 
many of our people, that a younger man 
in my place would do what now needs to 
be done, with much greater results. It is 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


313 


possible, William, that this work here will 
call for you when you are ready for it. 
Pray God you may consecrate your powers 
to the work of His united church on earth 
wherever you may be called. I once 
thought never to live to see such a miracle 
of grace as that which has been wrought 
in Markham. But we live in an age of 
progress in every part of the scientific 
world. Why should we not expect as 
much progress in the religious world? 
The true church union is a union of com- 
mon work for the Lord. When the church- 
es realize that truth fully, and come to- 
gether on the basis of common service, the 
miracle we have witnessed here will be an 
accomplished fact before the twentieth 
century has begun its glorious record of 
the triumph of the kingdom of God on 
earth.” 

John Procter finished his letter and rose 
and walked to his window. This time he 
recalled in a spirit of wonder his feelings 
in that same study on the day his son had 
written him that eventful letter. He 
looked out upon the town as it lay white 
and still under its cover of snow. He could 
still count several church steeples, though 
his own was not among the number. But 
he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving to 
think that now the churches of Markham 
moved under a common impulse for one 
purpose. Was not Christ’s yearning 


314 


THE MIRACEE at MARKHAM 


prayer being answered at last? Were 
they not becoming one, even as He was 
with the Father? In the spirit of that 
thanksgiving he looked out upon the town 
upon which the miracle of the Spirit’s 
power had displayed so large a part of its 
transforming grace, and prayed that the 
new year might witness in every town and 
city of the world the same miracle as 
“The Miracle at Markham.” 




APPENDIX 


W HEN “The Miracle at Markham” 
ran as a serial in The Ram’s Horn, 
of Chicago, it aroused the deepest 
interest and . the liveliest controversy 
amongst that paper’s immense constitu- 
ency. The following letters are typical 
of many which were received from those 
who agreed and disagreed with the les- 
sons of the story: 

A DIVIDED ARMY. 

C RAWFORDSVIIylvK, Ind., had, according to the 
census in 1880, 6,089 inhabitants. Its business men 
claim that it now has from 8.000 to 10,000 people, 
though some doubt. But it has three Presbyterian 
churches, two Methodist Episcopal churches, two 
Baptist churches, one African Bapti.st church, one 
Protestant Episcopal church, one Catholic church, one 
Christian Science organization, one Salvation Army, 
one Y. M C. A., one Christian church. The two lead- 
ing Presbyterian churches are within a stone’s throw 
of each other, and all the Presbyterians could woi'ship 
in one congregation if the “Miracle at Markham” idea 
were in vogue. This writer can see no good reason 
for all these churches. The two Methodist churches 
are within fifteen minutes walk of each other and one 
of the.se could easily supply all needed Methodist ser- 
vices. The Baptists are not numerous, and pay small 
salaries to their ministers. Two BaptLst churches are 
more than the community needs. The Protestant 
Episcopal church is very small, indeed, with but a 
handful of communicants, and, it is said, could not 
support a rector were not funds sent from stronger 
churches in the east. There are only about four 
hundred colored people in this county, quite a number 
of them living in the smaller places and in the country. 
Yet we have two colored churches here. It costs the 
church people several thousand dollars to support the 
Y. M. C. A., and .they, too, contribute the principal 
part of the funds to keep the Salvation Army going. 
We have fifteen religious organizations, supplied with 
ministers or officers who are engaged wholly in re 
ligious work, but we also have between twenty and 
thirty licensed liquor saloons. Then we have bottling 
establishments, brewers’ agencies, etc., giving us 


APPENDIX 


probably sixty persotis wholly engaged in destroying 
the moral and financial welfare of the community. 
We could better do the religious work of this place 
(had we the power to make people accept John Proc- 
tor’s views) with one Presbyterian church, one Meth- 
odist church, one Christian or Baptist church, one 
Catholic church, one colored church, one Y. M. C. A. 
We do not need any saloons. Yours, etc., 

E. H. Brumbaugh. 

Crawfordsville, Ind. 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 

y OUR correspondent, Mr. Brumbaugh, of Craw- 
fordsville, Ind., sees no need of fifteen churches 
in a city of 8,000 people, with thirty five saloons 
and, I suppose, the usual gambling den attached to 
each. The cry that a community is over churched, 
because all the churches cannot build fine houses, pay 
fat salaries, hire opera singers, and still allow their 
members to live in swell style, and buy more land 
every year, is a disgrace to Christian journalism and a 
discredit to Christian loyalty and common sense. 

Christians in Crawfordsville are squandering and 
hoarding many times more every 3'ear than their 
churches cost them, \inless thej' are a rare lot. “ The 
Miracle of Markham” would be a calamity to any 
healthy community. There has not been cited in all 
this foolish crusade a single community which is over- 
churched. No community is over-churched while two- 
thirds or more are unevangelized, and two or three big 
compromised, emasculated churches taking the place 
of the fifteen do not meet the difficulty. Crawfords- 
ville ought to have fifty churches. Plant them out 
where the people can get at them, as the saloons do. 

I.et the Christian people of C buy more gospel and 

less luxuries and land. What are Christians and 
Christian dollars for? Eet those who believe that the 
churches to which they belong are hand^made ; have 
outlived their usefulness; have nothing to stand for — 
let such desert and re-organize. I do not feel that 
way. Compromised Christianity is not New Testa- 
ment Christianity. It never has been, nor can be long 
successful in saving men. The apostles met for con- 
ference, they separated for work. What is that (other 
church) to thee, follow thou Me. 

Geo. M. Terrell, 

Charleston, Wash. 



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